


Right Before My Eyes This Whole Time

by Luxi_Storyteller, short_stack_100



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: AU-college, Community: au100, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, F/F, GQ!Lexa, Soldier!Lexa, Student-Teacher, Teacher!Clarke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-15 12:07:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5784784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luxi_Storyteller/pseuds/Luxi_Storyteller, https://archiveofourown.org/users/short_stack_100/pseuds/short_stack_100
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lexa enrolls in an online community college course after returning from overseas. They don't realize that the teacher of said course is the blonde that provides equally sassy conversation from the table at Starbucks just across from them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**~Clarke~**

My office is too dark for my taste. In fact, it’s just downright dismal. I haven’t written a single scene in that fucking office, and the deadline for this draft of my novel is seriously due in a month. Seriously, haven’t even gotten through the trials and challenges for the character.

The cursor on screen mocks me. Each flash reminding me why my mother said writing was a fruitless pursuit. I had to follow my dreams though. Scholastic said the first novel was going to be a hit, and it was for the most part. It was competing well with comparable titles, but series are the big sellers, and I had a deadline in a month for the second part of the series.

I can’t find the words though. Just stare at that damn cursor, wondering where Atlas should go next. Nothing is coming, though. I can’t write even with my ear buds plugged in as American Authors blares into my ears. Not even with the half empty drink on the table, sweating in the warm heated air. I am stuck. Atlas staring at the desert as weathered warriors charge forward. And I am just standing there watching as they charge, clueless as to what Atlas is being challenged with at this point in the hero’s journey.

I resort to the only thing that I can think of. It’s time to introduce another character. The problem is, I’m not not just someone that can make stuff up. I’m the person that uses what I know. What I see. Hell, I placed the fucking story in the only place I am familiar with. If I am going to build a new character, then I need a muse.

I glance up, looking around for my next character. I find her in line. A tall brunette, slim build. I notice the ink peeking out from under sleeve of her shirt. Green thermal with sleeve rolled just high enough that the beginning of something tribal is visible, but it’s thin. It’s Arizona so that makes sense, but at the same time, she screams woodsy. Definitely not a Scottsdale girl. Interesting…I try to place her in society.

Her hair is tightly tied in a bun, no nonsense kind of updo. The hair throw me, because it contrasts with the rest of the look. Her jeans fit well, like uncomfortable for someone with an interest in women that happens to be creeping on her.

I continue my scan, and I catch a glance at the toe of her boot. Combat, durable, worn and laced to the top. I know that boots are in style, but these are some serious boots. Like please don’t kick me with that.

As she moves forward, the pieces come together. What was previously hidden behind the large display of giftcards, is now completing the picture. An over large camo backpack hung over her shoulder. The bag looks full, but she carries it effortlessly. Her body strong with hidden muscle. Standing straight, looking proper... regal almost.The leader of the incoming people, maybe?

What’s not hidden is that this woman is beautiful. Beautiful is an understatement. I could spend days sketching her, just so I can spend months giving her a name, a history… all things that would be small pieces of me that I could twist and stretch. Give her happiness and pain.

She makes it to the counter. I can’t hear her order through the song playing as though I was listening. Someone should stop asking about trees in forest and consider if someone is watching something, or creeping on someone, and music is playing in their ears, then does it really make a sound.

She turns, and her eyes catch my gaze. _Damn it!_

But I get to see her eyes them. Pale, green doe eyes with dark lined lids, and a hint of darker shadow. She looks at me just as carefully as I watch her. I am drawn into the sincerity, like she holds the secrets of the world and guards it with her life.

She is taking me in as much as I am taking her in. I shift against the wooden chair, and drop my eyes down. The blinking cursor still laughing at me, this time not only mocking my lack of creativity, but the things I know she is noticing. That inital gaze that people make their first decisions regarding interest. The analysis of how I am too short. Too round.

I tug at the grey boy friend sweater, trying to pull it around my middle. Hiding the lack of stomach edges that she is graced with. Hiding that the last time I graced a gym with my pudgy form was on a tour of the student rec center two months before college even started.

I’m not sure how long I stare at the screen, as I try to fall back into the world of Aurora. Trying to immerse myself as a warrior, when all I have ever known is comfort. I can’t though.

I really can’t when a finger taps the top of my Macbook Pro. I raise my eyes, and then push up my oversized dark rimmed glasses. Of course it’s her. Of course she is standing in front of me.

She says something, but I miss it. Tugging out one of the buds, I quickly say, “I’m sorry, I missed that.”

Her lips form a smile. It’s so subtle, and mostly in her eyes, but there. Her voice a little higher in octave than I initially anticipated, but smooth. So smooth and controlled as she says possibly for the second time, “I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind sharing the outlet. It is apparently the only outlet available.” She waves the black cord at me, and I pout internally at her poor choice in computers, knowing that if she had a mac then the cord would be black.

“Oh... of course,” I answer, pulling the table out just a tad so that she could reach the outlet without crawling under the table. I fight away the idea of her under the table that I am sitting at, but it’s only worse as she leans forward and I get a slight view of the darker shades of her cleavage hitting out of a black cami under her shirt.

Her eyes glance up, and I feel my face heat as blood rushes from my chest to my neck and settling in my cheeks.

_Fucking fuck! You perv! She thinks you’re a perv now, Clarke! WAY TO GO, LOSER!_

Her smile is back, reveals very clean, very white teeth. “Thanks,” she says, and returns to her table. Her table that is directly across from mine. Her table that every time I glance up, I will see her. I will see her knowing that I was looking down her fucking shirt.

I have to get my shit together. Looking around, I notice we are the only two people in the lobby, minus the one floppy haired man-boy in line. The woman across from me, is watching me.

I sigh as I stand. Pointing to the computer, I ask, “Would you mind watching my stuff, while I use the bathroom?”

Her head tilts, and eyes squint for a minute. She seems to be chewing on her words for a minute, and I want to pick her brain. I mean it is such an easy question. She leans back though. She doubt my need to pee, and my flushed face is not helping my case.

“You don’t even know me,” she states.

I look around, and then down at the black PC covered in an assortment of stickers. It seemed off from her very put together attire, and just overall presence. I bite my lip and consider if snarky would be the best way to go. The woman is watching me though. Never hurts to try, I decide, and go with, “Well, your poor choice in computers doesn’t say much to your character; however, I did let you use my outlet. I guess that means you owe me.”

She laughs then. I am hit by an uncomfortable feeling, oh who am I fooling, that laugh was just arousing. The kind that a woman lets out after a round of intense fuckery that leaves nothing left but a laugh of joy.

“Your outlet, huh?”

I hold up my hands, “Didn’t you know I own this Starbucks?”

She sits up a little straighter and looks at my table. Shrugging, she says, “Figures with a drink that fills almost every box and a computer that cost more than two months of my rent. Sure, princess, I’ll watch your stuff.”

I huff for a second and look back at my computer. I worked hard for that computer. The first thing I bought with my novel profits. Biting down on my lip, I shake my head, “Nevermind.” I move to return to my table.

Her hand is on mine before I can fully turn though. The skin calloused, yet still her touch is so soft. The sincerity in her eyes returned, as she tells me, “I was fucking with you, miss. I’ll watch it, go use the bathroom.”

I don’t want to go now though. I mean I didn’t have to pee to begin with. However, if I don’t go, she’ll know I’m leaving because I got busted looking down her shirt. As if I am not an idiot of enough my eyes fall to her shirt again.

It's the subtle bounce of her chest that makes me fucking turn abruptly and head straight into the bathroom. Straight in the bathroom to the sink, where the faucet provides me with 30 seconds of cold tap water at a time. Splashing it over my face, I try to wipe away the blush running under my skin.

~~~~~

I spend too much time in the bathroom, but when I return my Mac protector is sipping on some smoothie drink. I chuckle to myself when I see the whipped cream on top. I mean doesn’t that defeat the purpose?

Sitting back down, I catch her eye. “Thank you,” I say.

She smiles back, her fingers running over the keys. “Anything for a siren.”

I watch her for a minute. Either she knew exactly what she said, or was clueless and doesn’t realize that she just called me a seductress that leads people to their death. She twists her lips, and says, “I take it you’ve read _The Odyssey_?”

I wave to the ceiling as though it's nothing, “Or any piece of mythology?” She really has created her own version of me in her head.

“Opps.” She shrugs ever so slightly. “Usually goes over most girls’ heads.”

I squint at her. The comment is pretty offensive. We go from I’m a princess to one that doesn’t know basic mythological figures to the presumption that I am unintelligent enough to have statements go over my head. Sitting up a little straighter, and pushing my glasses back up my nose, I state, “I’m not like most girls.”

“We’ll see,” she answers, and her confidence is starting to piss me off a little. Her eyes change a little, and I wonder if she sees where I have gotten too.

This whole thing should bother me. But it does. What else bothers me is how it takes her no time to pack up her stuff.

She moves to get her charger, but I grab it and pull it out before she leans forward again. She pouts a little, “Guess you didn’t like what you saw then.” I don’t get her. She offends me, and then is sad when I don’t continue to gawk at her like a pubescent boy.

Taking the charger from me, I watch her grab the huge pack and confidently step to the door. She looks back after just a moment, and says, “Same time tomorrow?”

I nod. I mean what else am I supposed to do. But it earns me another smile. My heart says, _yeah, I’ll be here tomorrow_ . My head says, _what the fuck is wrong with you?_

I justify though that I have to work on the syllabus for that fucking creative writing class tomorrow. The online class goes live on Saturday and I have yet to complete any assignment.

She’s gone, and I am logging back into my computer. The small pop up shows me a new email from a Lexa Azeban about my CRW 273 or 274 course. Clicking it open, I immediately, am just like _REALLY?!_

_Hello Mr. Griffin,_

Why does everyone always assume I am a dude?

Even though I am initially annoyed, I continue reading.

 _I am a returning soldier (from a 2 year post in Iraq) and i wish to enroll into Either you CRW 273 or 274 courses._ _In my 2 years away I have consolidated my love for writing in the copious amount of spare time i had.  I have begun the planning and have constructed the beginnings of a transcript for a novel.  Upon my arrival home, this has also materialized into the ambition of writing non-fiction work._

_Along with the hope of improving my editing techniques and overall writing ability, I would be interested and dedicated to learning the writing techniques that are introduced in 274._

_A few tidbits about me: before my deployment training and initial recruitment i was a wing-backer in my high-school (St Andrews) soccer team.  Even as our team advanced through the ladders - thus becoming more demanding and time consuming - i graduated with solid marks(A's in all my classes apart from Physics, i got a B in that)._

_I ask humbly to be allowed to partake in these courses.  To ensure you that i am not unprepared for the work required, i have attached a sizable sample of my work._

_Thank you so much for your time and consideration. I sincerely hope that I will begin your class on Saturday._

_Regards,_

_Lexa Azeban_

I try not to focus on the few grammatical mistakes. Overall, it is professional, and I mean she has been overseas for two years. Writing may be the best thing for her. It makes me wonder how Octavia is doing, whose been in Iraq for seven months. I fucking miss that batch of crazy.

Download the attachment, I figure I will see what kind of crazy I may be getting myself into. It takes a minute because it's a large file, but as it loads I glance over the subject matter. I recognize the omegaverse almost immediately. Its an interesting choice for a writing sample, because as I scroll through it, there are several hints of smutty interactions. I begin to wonder what type of person sends a smutty fic to a teacher. What if I was old and... like prudish? I decide that this woman is brave.

I go to the last few chapters and read through. I mean that is where her most recent work would be located. However, what I discover is smut, and smut, and holy shit these women have dicks. I know my face is red, but I can’t stop reading it.

“ _She is so tight around me already – it's heavenly...but my knot is...big and still increasing in size.  Fuck...people wouldn’t challenge our claim over her...but my knot would ward them off.....but pain......what if she becomes with child........”_

Dot dot dot, if fucking right. I mean, damn. I can’t deny this soldier is talented. My panties’ present dampness is without a doubt an indication that her words are powerful to say the least, or I am just really, really frustrated.

Returning to my email, I respond to Ms. Azeban’s request. I take my time crafting the email as I explain the courses she is requesting, and the expectations of each. Before I explain that though, I start with my correct pronouns; I am not a dude! After my snarky sass though, I explain to the soldier that I will happily enroll her in the writing a novel class, since she has yet to finish her novel. I promise to complete the add slip for the override and leave it in the box outside of my door with her name on it.

I look up and sigh, as I picture the questionable Starbucks girl that had sat across from me. Tomorrow, I remind myself though. I consider if maybe I should locate another Starbucks. I promised though. Well, I agreed to come back.

Packing up my stuff, and folding it away into the black canvas messenger bag, I wonder if the girl really will return tomorrow. I mean I am here every day working… or avoiding my office. I have never seen her here before. It’s rather presumptuous for her to assume I come here every day.

Heading to the counter, I order a drink to go. Monty smiles warmly at me, and asks, “The usual, C.?”

I laugh, because it was always the usual. Old habit, that has turned into a personal form of addiction. However, this addiction brought the greened beauty into my orbit, so maybe it was just meant to be like this. Or, maybe I was just a siren. I mean that is pretty fucking true too.


	2. Lingering Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa has met her match when it comes to snark and sass - a special Clarke Griffin that lingers in the soldier's mind.  
> But Lexa is definitely more than her seeming hardened and clean cut exterior.

I missed these kinds of days.  Days where I had no agenda, no time-locked mission, no ridiculously exaggerated consequences if I failed.  No.  None of that.  Today, it doesn’t matter if I am late or forget something – Starbucks will wait for me and reward me with a nice cool mango smoothie and a nice helping of cream anyway.   And then I will be able to sit down – enjoy my cold smoothie – and watch the world go by.  And not crash down around me while I have little or no control.  

Those were the things that I missed the most, the little things.  People might think that everyday life here is brutal and in some ways it is… but it is not truly brutal; people get shot, hit and runs, animal cruelty and massacres...that is what happens here.  That is not even close to the things I saw.  I shake my head, evicting those wicked thoughts and painful memories from my head, as I pull my car into the Starbucks parking lot; yet another thing I missed so much.  

I pulled my backpack from the passenger seat and into my lap.  Checking to make sure everything I needed was in there: laptop, phone, chargers, spare shirt, all the essentials.  Everything is in check.  

The cool air hits me like a ton of bricks as i pull the door to Starbucks open, it is a welcome change.  

There isn’t even a long line at the counter, just a few people; I am 10 minutes later than I planned to be, and I am still winning.  I stride up to the  back of the line and wait for my turn at the counter – eyeing the pastries and cakes in the refrigerated compartment as I go by.  Chocolate croissants and brownies and large sandwiches; they all look so enticing. I could really do with one of those..or two, maybe three. I reign in my sweet tooth and pass on indulging this time and order my mango smoothie.  But i cheat a little this time and ask for some cream on the top.  

As I wait for my drink, I step to the side and look around the room, seeking out an outlet.  In my sleepy daze last night, I forgot to charge my computer...it's a little disturbing because I am rarely forgetful.  I find the outlet... only one.  Just one and someone else is sitting there using one of the two plug-ins; someone with some really nice leather boots.  Like really nice boots.  Whoever this person is i like their choice of shoes.  

Apparently I look enticing too.   The two blue eyes belonging to the blonde are raking up and down my body as i bring my attention to her face.  I can’t help but notice a certain level of intensity in her eyes.  It is almost as if they are assessing me. I gaze right back at her; softening my eyes and loosening up a little from my rather straight and noble stature.  I think I see a hint of pink rising in her cheeks but that is probably just my wishful thinking.  Her rather covered up form visibly  when our eyes connect.  But she doesn’t look away.  And then she does, shifting uncomfortably in her chair as she returns her gaze to her Mac screen.  Her hair falls flawlessly around her shoulders and she tries to look like she is working – but I know better, it's cute.  _  Almost adorable. No, adorkable.  Yes. _

I give her a quick look over, the grey sweater is cute.  I do notice, the way her boots soles are the reason her feet reach the floor, the way her brow furrows a little as she thinks and the pooch of her belly.  But my heart sinks a little when she pulls at it to remove the shape of her stomach from view.  She is beautiful.  

The young lady behind the counter calls my name, hands me my drink, and wishes me a good day.  I'm not super good with people, but I know my laptop will die without power, so I suck it up and get moving towards the next table closer to the outlet beneath the blonde’s.

I drop my bag onto the top of the table across from hers, taking a moment to rehearse my words, ‘I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind sharing the outlet.  It is apparently the only outlet available’.   _ Okay...good.  That's okay, I can do that.  _

I take the two steps between my table and hers – she is still looking intently at her screen, tapping a few keys.  I tap the edge of the screen on her Mac and ask my question.  Her face turns up to meet my gaze, and I realise why she has a slightly startled and confused expression on her face.  I hadn’t noticed the earbuds until now.  

The blonde pulls the buds from her ears, “I'm sorry, I missed that” in the softest voice I may have ever heard.  Actually no, my old cat’s voice was pretty soft.  Okay so...it's debatable on who has the softest voice.

I repeat my question, a polite smile playing on my lips too, “I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind sharing the outlet.  It is apparently the only outlet available”

Her body kinda jumps into action with a rather chirpy, “Oh, of course”.  She even pulls her table out a little for me – for such a beautiful woman, she really is a gentleman. 

I shift my cord from one hand to the other.

I have to bend over to reach the outlet.  As I push the prongs into the wall, I notice a slight change in the girl's demeanor. I glance up at her and catch her prying eyes looking down at my cleavage through my camisole.  She knows I caught her, I see her cheeks and ears go a rather prominent red.  It’s cute. I can see how she mentally criticised herself for doing what she did, I’m almost tempted to reassure her that it's okay. I think that would make it more embarrassing for her though, so I decide on a better move.

“Thanks” I say firmly, as I stand up and drag the rest of the power cord back to my table.  My laptop takes forever to load, as usual.  I really do need a new computer, but I guess this one does the job. Plus, money isn’t exactly growing on trees right now.

My attention is drawn by a sigh, not comically loud but definitely loud.  Seeing that she caught my attention, she motions to her computer and asks me to watch her stuff while she goes to the bathroom.  I roll my words over for a moment, and she looks to be getting rather impatient as her eyes lose their previous softness.  But I settle and say, “You don’t even know me” – which is true.  

The girl’s response really caught me by surprise, so snarky and even a little playfully insulting, “Well, your poor choice in computers doesn’t say much to your character, however, I did let you use my outlet.”.

I don’t even restrain the laugh that comes from my mouth, “Your outlet, huh?”

And then there is more snark coming my way, “Didn’t you know? I own this Starbucks.”

I sit back in my chair, sitting up a little straighter and shrug my shoulders.  I narrow my eyes on the very elaborate drink on the blonde’s table.   _ THAT is one hell of a drink.  _ “Figures with a drink that fills almost every box and a computer that cost more than two months of my rent. Sure, princess, I’ll watch your stuff.”, i know it’s snarky but i can’t help but internally congratulate myself for the quick wit resulting in that nickname.  She definitely seems like the ‘spoiled princess’ type.

She obviously doesn’t like my response one bit according to the frustrated huff that left those beautifully pink lips, and the words after the huff, “Nevermind.” And she goes back to sit at her table.

I stand and reach forward, resting my hand on top of hers. I kinda feel bad, “I was fucking with you, miss. I’ll watch it, go use the bathroom.”, once her eyes meet mine again I soften mine again, hoping I haven’t offended her or anything.  

Fairly abruptly she turns and walks to the bathroom.  She is quick.  

I settle back into my chair and go about my business: checking to make sure my email to the professor of that course was well written and sent.  Silently hoping that I get in.

I look at my screen background for a few moments – it's a photo of my teammates, the rest of the squad and a few extras that we ran into on our travels.  The people that I spent the better part of two years with.  We would look at each other – myself and my squad members – our eyes wide and our bodies frozen as we watch innocents suffer fates worse than death.  Two years.  Two years of things I will never forget.  Two years of things I thought I would never see.   

My train of thought is interrupted by a gracious sounding, “Thankyou” from the snarky young woman.  

Rather quickly, I parry back, “Anything for a siren,” finished off with a smile.  She just looks at me, for a good minute or so.  If she wasn’t so pretty it would be getting creepy by now.

I break the silence, giving her a reason to look at me, I ask, “I take it you’ve read  _ The Odyssey _ ?”

But she waves a hand in the air and corracts, “Or any piece of mythology?”

Well she knows exactly what I called her then...whoops, I apologise..kind of, “Ooopps,” I shrug a little, “Usually goes over most girls’ heads.”

That is when she squints at me and says, “I’m not like most girls.”, and all I can think is...well nothing.  My mind goes blank for a few moments.  She is good at the snarky, sarcastic cute combo thing.

“We’ll see,” I say curtly.  I go about packing my stuff up back into my bag; I have it down to a fine art now.  Before I can move to retrieve my charger from the wall she yanks it out for me, I'm rather surprised and even a little disappointed that I don’t get another opportunity to make her well, stare,  “guess you didn’t like what you saw, then.”, I didn’t realise I’m pouting when I say that, but I really am.

No response.

I pack it into my bag and start striding towards the door, a few steps away from her I turn around. I don’t know if it is a statement or a question, “Same time tomorrow?” 

And she nods.  Like nods in affirmation, a yes.  I swear that my heart did a few little flips, not that I will ever admit it though.  Hiding the excitement like i was trained to do after years of conditioning, I turn quickly on my heel and stride out the door.  

Looking at my car among the others in the lot, I realise that this car really needs to be washed...like badly.  It looks worse than I did after 6 days without returning to our temporary halfway camp.  The thought makes my insides squirm and turn.  My whole body shudders and shivers, and once again I shake my head and sink into the car.  I mean it's nothing special, a 2009 Cruze. 

As I pull out of the lot and onto the road to drive back to my apartment, my thoughts wander again.  _ I really need to start controlling my thoughts.  Yeah, i need to do that. _  This time not as dark, I realise that those two years weren’t all bad.  Good things did come out of those two years.  Well...one good thing.  Writing.  Two years of down time with not much to do, most of the time it was a waiting game.  Writing became my safe place, it kept me sane.  

My counsellor suggested, I capitalise on the things that bring me pure happiness and let me get away from… well everything.  Writing is the only thing that ever helped.  So, following my shrink’s suggestion, I looked into courses and I found two that looked not too scary but enough for a challenge.  Both taught by a Professor Griffin, Clarke Griffin.  I decided to drop this professor an email, hoping to be accepted into the class.  Hoping it would help.  And maybe I might make something of this time too.

The rest of the drive back to my apartment is short and mindless, still sipping on my smoothie and enjoying the creamy twist.  Savouring the last few orange sips I can see left.  I can't help but let myself go a little.  I let one hand slip to the radio controls and I turn it up a little.  Just loud enough to feel the music engulf me.  

My apartment isn’t much.  I mean it's modern and clean cut - like i try to be - but it's not  _ home. _ It's just a place to crash until I find my feet again. It isn’t my home, I miss my home... well... what was my home.  I don’t get it sometimes.  When a couple who are about to be parents are asked if they want a boy or a girl, the usual response is ‘we don’t care, as long as they are happy and healthy’.  And that rings true, rarely but it does happen.  Not my parents.  I still remember my mother’s words as I stormed away from her, out the door the day that i went off to my recruit training.  We got into fights over stupid things.  

_ But that’s enough of that, _ I tell myself.   _ Enough of living in the past. _

I plug in my phone on the counter and set my laptop on the coffee table to charge some more.  Not five minutes go by, and I hear a familiar ding come from my phone and laptop alike.  An email.

To say I’m surprised was an understatement. I didn’t expect a response so quickly.  

_ Hello Ms. Azeban,  _

_ I am Ms. Griffin or Prof. Griffin, either will suffice, just please don't call me mister. _

_ I am happy to have you in the 273 course. I should note, however, that both courses you discussed will be running together. 273 is developed for people who begun working on a novel already; however, 274 is for people who have already completed a full draft of a novel. _

_ The differences between the courses show up in a few different areas as far as coursework is concerned. Every student must submit a number of novel excerpts for class workshop and discussion no matter which course you are enrolled. 273 students submit a minimum of five, and 274 students submit a minimum of six. There are some writing exercises are specialized for 274 students because they are revision-focused. Overall, the class is writing intensive. The majority of the work and "learning" will come from handing in excerpts, having workshop discussions, and receiving feedback. _

_ Regardless, I'm happy to offer you an add slip so that you can override into the class. This means you'll have to come by the college today or tomorrow and hand that slip into Enrollment. I can leave the slip on my door after 1PM today so that you can pick it up at your convenience. _

_ Best wishes, _

_ Clarke Griffin _

I take a few moments to process the email and its contents... it's snarky content.  I’m always under the impression that professors are rather emotionless and boring,  But this chick is not boring, at alllllll!

I’m very pleased that I got into the 273 course. It was a long shot in my eyes but I got it and all is well there.  I made a note and a reminder in my phone to go into the college in the afternoon. I mean, it is only 2 hours until then, but I don’t want to get caught up and forget.  Better safe than sorry.

But the professor’s whole ‘ _ I am Ms. Griffin or Prof. Griffin, either will suffice, just please don't call me mister.’  _ thing sounded rather snarky. Is this snarky… well I think so but maybe I am still just thinking about the snarky blonde.  _ Get out of my head, princess! _  But rightly so... I guess. I get pretty pissed when people misgender me and use words and pronouns that don’t fit me.  Though this  _ Ms Griffin _ did call me  _ Ms Azeban _ ...two can play at this.  

I begin typing out my reply.

_ Ms. Griffin, _

_ Thank you for this chance.  _

_ I apologise profusely for using pronouns that do not apply to who you are.  I will endeavour to ensure this does not happen again.  However, i would ask that you also do the same for me.  I am not a Mr. or a Ms. I would appreciate it if you would use gender neutral pronouns when addressing me. _

_ On a lighter note i would like to thank you for allowing me to learn from you by attending the 273 class (after i complete the form and submit it). _

_ Regards, _

_ Lexa Azeban _

I take a final look and then hit send.  Well thats it...now its time to see if more rejection comes.  That is the hard thing about not being,  _ normal _ or like everyone else.  You build relationships of all kinds and then someone finds out you are fucked up and they leave.  They left as if we were nothing...as if i was nothing.  

The next few hours pass slowly, it's brutal.  I am not used to a lack of objectives and in general a lack of things to occupy myself.  But here I am, slouched back on my recliner staring at my tv screen, flicking aimlessly through each channel.   

I want to write - but as always, writer's block. 

_ Ah writers block, aren't thou a heartless bitch.  _

I pull my button up off my shoulders and the black cami under it and shuck my fitted black pants off, a relief.  If I had any say in it I would walk around in boxers and a wrap all day.  THAT would be the life!

I toss my clothes onto the couch - they just looked so messy on the floor - and step into the bathroom.  I pull at the knobs on the shower.  They are just like me, stubborn.  I stand in-front of the full length mirror, looking over my body.  Hardened, marked, and stiffened by the hardships of war and uncertainty.  I run my hands over my front, tracing the dips between my abdominals and moving down trace the lines across my hips and upper legs.  My scars and nicks seem to come out of the pavement, even the ones that have healed and are long gone.  War of the body and mind come together here - only I know the difference between them.  

Upon stepping under the warm water, my body instantly relaxes and my mind is free again.  I slide and scrub the washcloth over my body, rubbing gently.  In this moment I am free to just feel and exist.  

The kind of feeling that evades me all afternoon - for starters i am so unprofessionally late to the college.  I mean seriously, how on earth did i end up spending that long in the shower.  I mean i know i took extra time to braid my hair; releasing it from its tight restrictions.  

The trip to the college was long and drawn out - I, Lexa Azeban am never late.  And today I am almost an hour and a half late.  Seriously!  It’s like a cold day in hell - this never happens!  I mean it's only 10 minutes away and there is hardly any traffic, ever.  But just like Ms. Griffin promised, the form was in a slot on the outside of her door.   It was a relatively quick process and I was out of there!  

I have had far worse days but, I cannot express my gratitude in any other way than a groan of pleasure as I sink into my bed.  Again, it’s the simple things - I love my bed...and my sleep.  As the pleasure of taking weight off my body recedes I feel my body being washed over with another feeling.  A different kind of pleasure.  Not need.  Not arousal.  Not want.  It is a simple mind pleasure - I close my eyes and listen to the world around me as I see the blonde’s face again.  I didn't even get a name. 

Her blue eyes accompanied by the pricking of my skin.

Her glowing fair skin warmed my skin.

Tomorrow…

Tomorrow I will see her again, with my own eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments and kudos fuel our fire! :)


	3. Capitalize your "I"

**~Clarke~**

I had just described Odysseus with her long legs and gorgeous fucking boobs, I seriously need to stop thinking about her boobs,  and her fucking attitude as she meets Atlas. My flow is ruined. Ruined by the email notification from Ms. Azeban.

I’m more frustrated than I should be. I mean, it’s what they pay me for, and technically I am on the clock still. And, after all the student does have my attention. This is the downside of teaching online. I will never really get to meet the person that has the tits enough to send me an omegaverse story.

I open the email, and am immediately frustrated that this chick cannot capitalize their fucking “i”s. Like seriously it’s just a button that they have to hit and it will do it on it’s own.

_Ms. Griffin,_

_Thank you for this chance._

_I apologise profusely for using pronouns that do not apply to who you are._

Well, that was at least polite. I mean whoever she… I stop my thought as I read further.

_I will endeavour to ensure this does not happen again.  However, i ..._

SERIOUSLY! Just hit the shift key.

... _would ask that you also do the same for me.  I am not a Mr. or a Ms. I would appreciate it if you would use gender neutral pronouns when addressing me._

Gender neutral pronouns? What is a gender neutral pronoun? Note to self: google gender neutral pronouns later...

_On a lighter note i would like to thank you for allowing me to learn from you by attending the 273 class (after i complete the form and submit it)._

_Regards,_

_Lexa Azeban_

I sit there determining how to respond as the cafe lobby fills up with teens and soccer moms. The quiet atmosphere with Odysseus is gone, instead now a new buzz hums around me.  I know with this type of activity and being out of my zone means I will not be getting back in it anytime soon.

The woman with the toddler next to me draws my attention for a moment. My chest aches, and I was to reach out and just touch the child. It’s little face is smiling and waving at the woman that looks about my age.

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath. It’s going to be okay. It’s all going to be okay. Just breath in and turn back to the frustrating email.

When I open my eyes, I check the time on my monitor. I have two hours before I promised to have the damn add slip on my door. Why did I agree to go back to that cell? Oh right… day before registration closes. Of course, I have a last minute student that wants to fly by the prerequisites of common grammar.

I hit reply, and type out a brief response.

_Hello again,_

_May I call you Lexa?_

_Thank you for informing you the correct way to address you. I know I find it ever frustrating that people always assume I am male. I will make sure to address you correctly. In the online discussions you may need to school a few people; however, I will ensure that everyone is respectful to each other._

_I will make sure the slip is on my door at 1pm and should be in my office until about 2pm. Don’t hesitate to pop in if you would like._

_Best wishes,_

_Clarke Griffin_

I mean maybe then I can put a face to the writer. I wonder if this person is the alpha or the omega. I am ridiculous, but I mean we are always writing ourselves. I mean these characters are female with dicks. Like… boobs and cocks. I feel like I maybe belong in an omegaverse, and soldier girl could be a hot Alpha sporting an impressive package. I laugh then, like snort out loud and see a rather attractive dirty blonde look back at me. She’s not soldier girl, but even I can feel the months of self denial getting to me.

I realize that again I am being a creeper, so I turn my attention back to the computer. After I proof and send, I click back to Lexa’s story. Starting from the beginning, I try to imagine which character Lexa identifies with. Pulling up another window, I find gender neutral pronouns as they and them… well that’s not grammatical at all. I shake my head, and know that I am being ridiculous.

“Excuse me?” I look up to see the girl I had been creeping on standing before me. She has her drink in her hand, and asks, “May I sit with you.”

“Uh.. sure,” I answer, immediately feeling like an idiot. Why is human interaction so fucking difficult for me.

She holds out her hand, and I look at it. I don’t do touching. But this was a social cue, and I know I have to follow through. As her warm hand greets mine, she says, “I’m Niylah.”

“Clarke,” I choke a little. “Clarke Griffin.”


	4. Issues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Lexa get to know each other on a new level

**~Clarke~**

I get to Starbucks early. It’s Saturday, and I know that the cafe will be busy so if I want my table I have to pull myself out of bed three hours earlier. 6am is a bitch, like the sun isn’t even up when I pull into the parking lot. Ridiculous is not even close to being a valid enough analysis over the fact that I got up early to save a seat for a girl that I don’t even know. _And what if she doesn’t even sit with me, since I look like a straight up mess?_

I’m trying to shake the thoughts out of my head, as Monty greets me. He is always sweet, and I love that he is here almost every morning that I am.

“Hey Clarke,” he says as he waits on the thin older man before him, and I halfway smile. He chuckles, and I know he has been here since 4:30 am. I feel bad for him in that aspect. I don’t feel bad enough though, since he has had free coffee since then. While I am waiting behind the slowest old man ever. _It’s Starbucks and they are everywhere. You don’t have to go over every fucking option before choosing. I mean like they’re all the same just pick a fucking flavor and get out of my way._

Yeah, mornings are not my thing. My boots click against the title floor as I leave the line and set my stuff down at my table. I don’t even bother getting back up. I just hit the mobile order app on my iphone and hit purchase. My drink even goes through before “Dante,” _figures_ get out that he has decided on a medium black coffee. I guess he lives up to his name sake though. Analyzing the seven layers of hell, and then chooses the one highest in caffeine. Oh the irony.

I laugh at myself. I laugh because I really need to stop reading ancient literature into everything. I mean seriously, I had to fight the urge to name soldier girl as Odysseus. I already have an Atlas.

Monty brings my chai tea latte to me. He is laughs when I roll my eyes at the old man still standing at the condiment bar trying to select what type of artificial sweetener to put in his drink. “You’re in a mood today,” he states, and i put the straw between my lips and drink.

The sweet smooth liquid coats my tongue, and 6am suddenly doesn’t feel quite so bad. I hold up the drink and say, “Two more of these and I will be a ray of fucking sunshine.”

Monty sits down across from me, and pulls up the discarded Arizona Republic. He must be on a break, as he sits from his own milky drink. The page turns, and he tells me, “So how’s Atlas?”

I smile softly. Monty is the only one that I have openly told about my novel and even gave him a copy. It was a huge moment for me, because I hadn’t really shared anything with anyone about me since I moved to Arizona. Perfectly content with leaving the past in the past. But it was that day, and I just needed someone. I needed someone to be more than just another human wandering through the world a safe distance from me. I rather like being anonymous, which is why I write fanfiction of my own damn book and post it so that I can explore further directions and get some feedback before I put it in the actual text.

He promised not to out me, as I don’t really want anyone to know that I wrote it. However, after that day he introduced me to Octavia, Raven, Finn, and Jasper. All different people from those that I was used to. All open and caring, never judging the silence or people as they passed by. Just living their lives and letting me live mine. Yeah, it was one hell of a change.

Looking up from my still loading screen, I tell him, “She’s being a bitch. I fucking hate teenagers.”

He snorted and I smiled. “Not following instructions again?” he asks. I run my fingers over the keys and nod in frustration.

The timer hooked to Monty’s apron goes off signalling his break ending. He hands me the paper, and points to an article. “This is pretty messed up.”

Taking the paper from him, I scan over the article titled: “Teacher Fired for GoFundMe Revealing Homosexuality.” _What the fuck?_

**~Lexa~**

I get to Starbucks early.  The cool air and wafting scents of various combinations of coffee, milk and various additions hit me again as i walked through the door to starbucks.  Holding up my end of the bargain - but, did she?

Yes.

Yes she did.

_Thank the fucking lord!_

The blonde is seated in exactly the same spot as yesterday - she is sitting the same way and everything.  Yet, something is different.  

The blonde is gripping a newspaper rather tightly and a kind of flush is rising in her face.  But this is definitely not the good kind; she is not a happy camper right now.  It’s actually a little scary.  I took her as a goodie two-shoes and complete angel.  I may have been wrong.

Her rather ruffled facial expression really contrasts on her look this morning - she really made it worth it to get up at this ridiculous hour.  I mean the way her blonde hair is pulled back into a loosely fitted french braid kinda matches her current...emotions as I see them.  I am pleased to see a lack of loosely fitted clothing.  Not because I’m a perv but she really does have a nice body; she has a beautifully moulded figure.  The fitted brown shirt really shows off everything (I am not complaining at all), including giving her the essence of self esteem.  Combined with the bootcut jeans that let those cowboy boots and their intricate stitches.  She looks the spitting image of confidence.

I can’t help but soften my eyes and take the blonde’s beauty in.  She is not gripping the newspaper anymore.  The paper is laid out on the table in-front of her, behind the laptop.  She tapping away at her ridiculously expensive laptop and sipping occasionally at her  equally ridiculous drink.  In the travels of my gaze I meet blue and just for a moment her features soften and lose the edge of anger and frustration..  

 _FUCK!_  

She is staring right back at me; I have been caught.  

I know it comical but i can feel the redness and heat rising up into my cheeks and ears.   _God I’m horrible. I need to stop being so...so damn ME._

Something inside me compels me NOT to look away while every other fibre of my being is screaming at me to stop being such a creep.  I give in and pull my eyes away from the blonde as my legs carry me towards the counter.  With no line!  I mean wow - maybe there are more upsides of getting here early.   

As I order my mango smoothie, without the generous helping of cream this time. I wonder what kind of tongue twisting skills it would require to order the kind of drink that she has.  She does seem to really enjoy it.  I swear I even heard her give out a little moan yesterday as she held the liquid over her tongue.  Would it be creepy???

I make my decision, “-and one of whatever the blonde on the far table is having too” I add to the end of my order.

I know my smoothie isn't that complicated but still, the dirty blonde chick behind the counter fucks my drink up twice before I get it.  I mean how hard can it be?!?!  A fake apology and one creamless mango smoothie with the addition of an overly complicated, yet rather nice smelling concoction later I am faced with the rather minor dilemma of where to sit.  

I need space for my own laptop and my assorted collection of shit; so I take up the same table I sat at the day before.  Systematically I pull out my laptop, it's charger, and my headphones, but then I just sit there for a few moments aimlessly staring at the two drinks on the table in-front of me.

My _sensibly priced_ computer is far from needing a charge, it’s sitting on 89% of battery...but I feel compelled to bend over that table once again and ‘plug in my charger’.  

I take my charger in one hand and the ridiculous concoction for the blonde in the other and move over to the end of her table.  It takes a good 10 seconds for her to even look up at me from her screen and even then, _princess looks pissed._  Her eyes narrow in on each item in my hands and then the soft blue of her eyes finally meet mine.  The initial hardness has left the blonde’s expression, but she fails miserably at hiding her true emotions.   

“Hey,” she says curtly.   

_okay, so her tone isnt all sunshine and lollipops but its a good start._

“May i use _your_ outlet again?” I ask.  Making sure to re-iterate that this is apparently _her_ outlet.

“Uh.. yeah,” she says quietly. She slides the table across far enough for me to reach down through the gap between it and the wall.  Before I can do so, she motions to the drink I have in my hand and asks, “Is that for me?”

“Naturally,” I decide to leave out the snarky comment I had in mind. “Only the best for the princess.”.

I set the drink down on the table, just behind her first ‘coffee’.  A small smile spread across her lips, it may be weak but it is definitely something.  And I finally discover what is causing her anguish on this fine morning, “Sorry, I just read this article… it’s really gotten under my skin.”  I can only nod in understanding since I haven’t actually seen the nature of said article.  

I can’t look down to the paper near her laptop before I hear the slightest hint of a sigh.  Not the ‘I have a lot of shit to do today’ sigh, but a sigh of disappointment.  She is looking at where all my stuff is set out on the table behind me.   

It confuses me a little, until I notice the state of her table.  It looks like she wants it to be _our_ table.  I could be wrong but all of her stuff is confined to one half of the table; but I really don’t want to be wrong.  I mean she doesn’t seem like the kind of person to have an imaginary friend...so I hope that is not the cause for the proverbial line down the middle of the table top.  

I chew on my options and my lip.   _She wouldn’t want me to sit down with her...would she?_  

The thought lingers in my head as I bend over the top of the table and wiggle the prongs of my charger into the powerpoint.  The blood rush to my head must have flicked a switch of courage inside me because before I can stop myself, my body straightens up and our eyes lock, “May I sit-”

A firm and steady yes comes out of her lips faster than I thought imaginable; it seems to surprise us both.

But a smile forms on her lips again, and I swear that my heart is trying to imitate a teenageer on a drum kit.  It's insane.  One human can have this amount of power over my emotions, in this moment of course.  It’s not like I’m not a lovesick puppy ...

I nod once, slowly. Putting every ounce of willpower I have into the effort of not showing the flips and leaps that I am doing in my head right now.  I set my charger cable down on the table and bring my shit over to the table and organise in the best way I could.  It’s like a real life game of tetris.  

I push my screen back and forth until the glare stops trying to burn my eyes out, the only thing I regret about this computer.  A fucking gloss screen.

The screen opens directly to my emails and there are so many bolded names from new messages and emails.  One in particular catches my eye: Prof. Clarke Griffin.

I click the name, reading the email;

> _Hello again,_
> 
> _May I call you Lexa?_
> 
> _Thank you for informing you the correct way to address you. I know I find it ever frustrating that people always assume I am male. I will make sure to address you cor_ _rectly. In the online discussions you may need to school a few people; however, I will ensure that everyone is respectful to each other._
> 
> _I will make s_ _ure the slip is on my door at 1pm and should be in my office until about 2pm. Don’t hesitate to pop in if you would like._
> 
> _Best wishes,_
> 
> _Clarke Griffin_

That email was much more...professional.  It settles a feeling of admiration for the professor in my mind as most people are not that understanding when it comes to _this._

 _This email was sent yesterday...i might have to be more diligent in checking my emails._  

I sit back in my chair and pull my phone from the table and change the notifications on my phone for my email to ring and sound every alarm, horn and ding when I get an email.  

_There!  I can’t possibly miss an email now._

Satisfied with myself, I bring the straw of my smoothie up to my lips and take a sip, and another until I feel the coolness work its way into my belly, and release the straw with a pop.  My eyes fall back on the blonde again, who is hurriedly tapping away at her keyboard with her brow furrowed and her eyes darting around the screen.  

_Yeah, she is definitely cute.  The definitely looks the part of a princess...and kinda acts like one too._

Pulling my eyes away, I hit the reply button on the email - I don’t want to get caught starting again and I don’t want to sound rude by not being punctual with my replies.

> _Good Morning Ms. Griffin,_
> 
> _Yes, you may call me Lexa._
> 
> _I do understand your dilemma and agree that is can be frustrating.  Testing even the most civil of peoples’ tempers and restraint._
> 
> _Thankyou, i w_ _ill endeavour to be respectful about correcting any wrong_
> 
> _I have rec_ _eived the slip and have submitted it to the enrollments office._
> 
> _Reg_ _ards,_
> 
> _Lexa Azeban_

I read through and fix up my mistakes and hit send.  Realising that I don’t really have any work to do right now an unusual feeling sets in on my mind.  I rarely have no purpose.  

All my spare time has always been taken up by writing or more recently, designing new tattoos that I might get and add to the two that are already inked on my body.  It would definitely help if I got a job or something that would please the capitalist society like that…

**~Clarke~**

Lexa looks be ready to put her stuff away, and I realize that I haven’t barely spoken to the woman that I came here early to meet. Closing my laptop, I look at her. She is rolling a pen between her fingers, but her eyes glance up to meet mine.

“I’m sorry,” I start with. Her brows scrunch momentarily in the middle, and I can tell she is confused. Gesturing to the cup, “You bought me coffee, and I didn’t even bother to speak with you… so I’m sorry about that.”

She smiles, and shrugs, “Seems like you were having a rough morning.”

I nod looking down at the paper again. I turn the article to her. “This shit really pisses me off,” I try to explain. I just don’t really know how to tell her everything without telling her _everything._ Glancing up, I worry for a second that maybe I have assumed too much. I mean I don’t even know her name.

Her eyes are waundering over the page, and I see the flush gradually spreading from  her once again exposed cleavage - _She is seriously is trying to kill me with her boobs-_ and it slowly makes it way up her neck settling in her high cheek bones. Her eyes look back up at me but they are somewhat glassed over. I swallow thickly, worried that I really shouldn’t have shown why I’m upset.

“This is bullshit,” she says, pushing the paper away. Her glassy eyes turn sharp, and I feel all of the nerves in my skin prickle. My breath is fast, and I feel my chest constricting. The tighteness starts to feel overwhelming as I see her knuckles turning white from the tightness in her fists.

Wrapping my arms tightly around my stomach, I try to hold everything in. It’s so much though, and I don’t want to show soldier girl. I don’t want to show anyone. So I just hold on. Hold on and hold my breath.

“Sweetie?  I need you to listen to me...okay?”

I can hear her voice, but I’m not processing what she is saying. I can’t process what is going on but at the same time I am processing everything. Every tiny movement around me has me want to hit the ground and wrap my arms over my head to block out the sound. To block out the people. To block out the hands that are holding on to me.

_No. No. Nooo!!!_

I try to push the hands away, but they grip me tighter. Too tight, and too much. I gasp in another breath, sucking it in deeply and holding it. Holding it the way the counselor told me, but its not working.

My chair shifts, and the axis of the room tilts. I feel like everything is spinning. The boy bouncing the soccer ball on the table two tables around. The teen girl laughing loudly as a boy reaches out towards her. The soldier woman’s green eyes staring into mine.

I can’t stop anything, and I can’t concentrate on the numbers that I am trying to count. Because I know that seven doesn’t come after nine, but seven was his favorite number and its echoing in my head. Like three was the number of years we were together. The counting isn’t working, so I choke out, “I need… hands… please.”

I can’t say what I really need. I can’t say to get your fucking hands off me. I can’t scream in the place I come every day. I can’t even scream because my lungs are burning and begging for air. I choke, covering my mouth, and pushing her hands off of me.

 _Get it together._ I beg my body.

 _Get it together!_ My mind screams.

I choke in another breath, and I open my eyes to see her leaning back her hands on the edges of my chair. Her lips are moving, and I try to focus. “I’m not going to touch you,” she says. “But I’m right here, princess.”    

I nod, and choke in another breath. “So-rree,” I try, but it’s not enough. I choke a breath and I hold it in. I look at her, and then at the table. I see the pen she was playing with and her notebook. Grabbing it, I scribble since I can’t get my mouth to work.

_Panic sorry._

The woman smiles at me and gestures to the pen. I hand it to her, and take notice that she makes it a point not to touch me and only the pen. She takes a moment, but quickly jots down her own message.

_it’s okay… you’re safe._

I breath out slowly. Careful not to gasp back in, I hold my hand out for the pen, and she drops it in my hand. I am not sure why, but I feel like I need to protect myself. I feel like I need to protect myself from her anger, because anger is the most terrifying thing for me.

_Let’s play a game. I don’t know who you are. You don’t know who I am… Let’s see how long we can go without the first blind date twenty questions._

I hand her the pad, and watch her sit back on her heals. She smiles, and she nods at me. Her smile so reassuring, but still so scary for me. She is writing, her head angled downward, and I feel like for a moment I can breath easy.

As I exhale smoothly, she looks up and asks, “Better?”

“Yes,” I say softly. I still don’t trust myself to let more out.

She nods, and hands me the notebook. Her hand shoots out, and she grabs her chair, pulling it over. The screech of the chair makes me jump and hold the notebook to my chest. “Sorry,” she says as she moves slowly up from the ground. She’s careful to avoid touching me.

Gradually I pull the notebook back. I glance up before I complete reading, and I nod.

_i can handle this. is there anything though that i need to know to make you feel safe around me? Like no fast movements? Daily disturbingly long drinks?_

Testing my voice out, I start with, “I have a hard time with anger.” She nods, so I give her the next one, “and touching.”

Her head tilts, and I see a smug look grace her lips. I squint at her, and she let’s it out, “So I guess I can’t kiss you then.” She leans back and pushes a dark strand of hair behind her ear.

I laugh though. Like hard. Like so hard, my abs contract and I fall forward a little. I’m laughing so hard that I snort, and people around us start to look. I cover my mouth, and I can’t help but think what it would be like to feel her lips that are curled into the most adorable smile. A sense of innocence gracing her features.

“Maybe date four,” and she seriously checks the bulky watch on her wrist. As I watch her check her watch, my eyes wander down her fitted jeans, and then back up the hint of the tattoo on her arm that is peaking out from the rolled up sleeves of the white button up.

Looking up, her eyes sparkle with tiny flecks of gold against grassy green as she asks, “So, Monday then?”

“So this is date two then?” I ask as I shake my head that falls backwards, hitting the wall behind me. Reaching up, I am beat by the slender hand cupping my head. She retracts it so quickly that I am not even sure how to react.

“So no touching, is kinda a challenge,” she admits, and I smile because she is trying. She shrugs though, and adds, “What? I’m good with my hands.”

I put my thumb nail into between my teeth to keep from commenting something dirty, and look into the gorgeous eyes scanning my face. Reaching forward with my sweater pulled over my hand I tap her leg, and say, “I know I have issues… but I promise I am trying to work through them.”

She snorts this time, and gestures to herself, “Trust me. I understand issues.” I’m not sure what she could be talking about. I mean, she seriously seems to have it together. Well except that nasty smoothie. I mean seriously if you want a smoothie you go to Jamba Juice, not Starbucks.

I don’t know what to say, and soldier girl seems comfortable just sitting there with me. We sit like that for a minute. Just looking each other over. The other customers move around us like a blur as drinks and names are called out, but we just sit and watch each other. No words needed, just getting comfortable with being together.

I begin with, “No names.” Her upper lips gets sucked into her mouth, and I can tell she is thinking it over. She doesn’t disagree, but doesn’t exactly agree either.

“I’m gonna call you Princess,” she states.

I narrow my eyes at her, and tilt my head in nothing less than attitude. I don’t know what to call her. I mean I don’t know anything about her. The only thing I can seem to think of how easily she moves through the room. Almost like she commands it. “Okay, Commander.”

Soldier girl just smiles for second, and then takes a moment, Before giving us the next rule. “No jobs.” I glance over at my computer, and consider how I can keep my work from our conversations. Twisting my lips, I nod in agreement.

And that’s how the rules are set out. One at a time working through things we don’t want to talk about. We eliminated talking about work. We eliminated talking about prior relationships. We eliminated major childhood details.

I sit up though, because I remembered what I learned yesterday. “So, yesterday after you left something was brought to my attention. When I researched it more, I realized that it was something I really wanted to work on making a habit. So I wanted to tell you my pronouns are she and her.”

Her head tilts slightly, and she answers, “They and them.” And I realized my entire inner dialogue was going to have to adjust. But she… fuck they seem to be breathing a little easier. “No one has ever asked me before.”

Moving a little, I take another chance, “Can you explain it to me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your Comments and Kudos fuel our fire.


	5. Questions are asked and Answered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke is a lil thirsty, so is Lexa. But Lexa is one cocky human being and well...if you put two hurting people together you are bound to get a lil sadness and angst but, there are always fireworks.

**~Lexa~**

My brain comes to a screaming halt as I hear her words.  Blondie wants me to explain it to her?! How the fuck am I supposed to explain this?!?!

I take a deep breath as my mind does backflips trying to form some kind of an arrangement of words that will not make me look like a blabbering idiot.  

And I begin, “well…” Or I tried to begin. I take a breath and try again, “I will be honest with you in the fact that I am not sure how to put this into words.  But I will definitely try.”.  She straightens up in her chair a little and nods, pursing a small encouraging smile along her lips.  

_Where the fuck do I even start?_

For a moment I can’t even look at her; chewing my lip I glance around the room.  Taking in the movements around us.  The lobby is full of people now.  I can’t understand how I missed the dramatic change in my surroundings...I have always taken pride in my ability to observe.  Just milling around; ranging from business people who look like they need to down barrels of coffee to students who look much the same.

*lightbulb*

“Okay, I think I know how to explain _this.”_ . she nods and leans in, signalling me to continue.  “You know how the majority of clothing stores have one side or section for guys and another for girls.  Overlooking the labels, they are all just items of clothing.” and once again I am floored by her ability to comprehend and understand my words and the ideas coming from my mouth, “... Yet, I would still be an item of clothing...just without a label so I can move between and amongst these ‘sections.”, I look up into the blue eyes, realising that I’m staring at my fidgety hands as I explained myself - _so rude! come on Lex, shape up!!!._

I can see her chewing on her words, in a much harsher fashion than the way she is chewing that beautiful pink bottom lip.

 _Don't let yourself go now, you are having a perfectly respectable conversation with an open human being!!_  

I don't think I’m actually prepared for what came out of her mouth next, “So I'm sorry, I don't want to be rude…” in her word chewing, her gaze finds my lips.  And no, I highly doubt this is wishful thinking this time. ,“But does this like overrule…” The way the little princess is tripping over her own tongue is insanely cute.  Like I have said before, she is adorkable,“No, that's not what I'm trying to say. I guess I am trying is ask is about your sexual preference. And now that I say it it just sounds dumb.”.  

“No. No, this isn't dumb at all.  I promise you.” I try to reassure her, I can tell she is trying to choose her words carefully.  Something that I am kinda really admiring right now; I have never met someone so… considerate.  “I honestly haven’t thought about where that would leave me when it comes to labelling my sexuality.”

“Oh,” she shifts in her seat a little.  Crossing one knee over the other and sitting back in the chair and drawing a short sip from that ungodly complicated drink of hers.  Even in this conversation, I can't in a few even begin to fathom what such complexity tastes like.

She swallows deeply, shifting in her seat again.  The more regal looking posture makes me a little more weary of the words I may choose next.  She really does exude power here, “Does that maybe be fall under the q in LGBTQ plus categorization?”  

“Yes.  I pertain to the ‘Q’ in that acronym.”  The straightness of her back lapses and she leans back closer to me. “But, if it helps you understand better...I am attracted to girls, and girls only.” The blonde audibly swallows as she processes my explanation. The way her neck rippled slowly with the movement was strangely nice; making my horrible horrible mind see how I wanted it to be.  Open to me and wearing my marks.  I can’t ignore how her eyes darken moments after she swallowed and drew in a breath.  A barely visible shudder worked its way up my spine and through my gut simultaneously - I doubt she saw it but I definitely felt it.

“Do you tell people? Like normal people that don't call you Commander?”

“Tell people that I like girls or that I’m genderqueer?” I ask, cocking my head slightly.

The girls fidgets with her hands, rubbing circles on the back of her knee.  It kinda looks like a calming thing...but who knows?  Probably not me. “Your pronouns.” She clarifies, “Do you tell people your pronouns.”

“ahhhh.  Well it depends on if I’m going to see them again or have to interact with them really.  For instance, my squad members and my friends know my preferences and all that...people that I have to work with or be around a lot.  But I wouldn’t ask the barista or the waiter at a restaurant.  Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” she glances down at the table briefly, looking up she adds, “Thank you for explaining it to me.”

“I showed you mine, so you show me yours”  I quirk an eyebrow, hoping to lighten up the mood a little.

She almost inhales her coffee, sputtering for a moment before she asks, in an unmistakably shocked tone, “Excuse me.”

I open my mouth to speak but immediately shut it.   _god im horrible at this._ “Sorry, I’m really bad at making jokes.” I explain quietly, playing with my hands and picking at my fingernails nervously. “W-what i meant was...I meant to ask what your preferences are, in regards to your pronouns,” I meet her gaze.

“Oh! I thought you were asking me if I liked women.” She smiles and declares, “I prefer she. I get confused for a guy all the time and it's frustrating.” Her gaze shifts to her cup and she  wraps her lips around the straw taking another sip.

As the liquid drains to ice, it creates a loud sucking noise.  I cant help but wonder what actually makes up this wierd concoction _and_ makes it drinkable.  I mean complicated anything is not to my taste, yet, i can’t help but catch the way that the liquid causes barely audible groans of pleasure.  I mean it really must be good.  

“What is that?” She looks up at me a little confused, “Your drink i mean...what is it made up of?”

“You bought it and don't know what it is?”  

“Well...yeah” i admit sheepishly; i really should have noticed.  “Obviously it has coffee and other stuff in it...”

“It's actually not coffee. It's chai tea concentrate and just milk. The specifications are that I don't want as many pumps of the chai because it makes it too spicy. I prefer whole milk in it because it heightens the sweetness, and I prefer less ice so I can get more drink.”

“Also I don't have a preference. Just in case you were wondering.” You could get confused by this but Clarke is saying she is bi.

“That is a very, very intense drink, if I can say so.  I might try it one day, but for now i am very content with my squished and beaten mango.” I say, giving my half-empty plastic cup a shake.  “But by no preference do you mean you are pansexual orrr...” i question gently, knowing the sensitivity of being misunderstood in cases like this.

She waves her hands infront of herself, “No. no not what I meant. Just gender doesn't choose my potential partner… I just like… People.”

“My mistake” I say curtly, “But, that is definitely not a bad thing at all.  I admire you for that.  I do agree that love is love, no matter the situation and other factors. People with such a level of understanding are few and far between.”, I can’t stop the small smile that spreads across my lips.

“So… You like girls… I like people…”

“That does seem to be the situation” I concur, unable to suppress the nerves coming through in my voice and my goddamn shaking shoulders.

“I guess that is something we have in common so we can talk women for sure.”, she looks around the room, scanning the area and then totally blows me away with the next arrangement of words, “well… What’s your girlfriend like?”

I completely lose it and tumble into a laughing fit; i loose all ability to form coherent words or any kind of intelligent interaction.   _Thank god its busy here._ In between my horribly embarrassing snorts, breathless heaves and wheezing as I try to speak i notice the insanely cute, yet confused expression on blondies face.  But that really isn’t bothering me right now, it just feels so good to laugh, like really laugh and not have to force it.  It’s almost a euphoric feeling; almost as good as sex.   _ALMOST._

It takes me a good minute to regain my composure and self control but her still very confused expression brings me back to earth and pulls my head out of the clouds.  She wasn’t joking with that question; it was genuine, “I’m sorry, i genuinely thought you were joking.”, i catch the start of another laughing fit at the back of my throat and push it back down, “I definitely do NOT have a girlfriend.  Sadly, I’m not the kind of person that seems to be able to attracts...well, girls.  Let alone girls that want something real or long term.” I shrug but try and smile a little.  I don’t want pity.  The pang that burns me to my core in remembering my solitude wipes that smile off my face only seconds later.  

“What do you mean you don't attract girls?”she simply stares in disbelief, almost as if she had seen a headless person, “you're hot!” she blurts out and covers mouth.  The rising pink in her cheeks and ears are telltale of her embarrassment.  She shouldn’t be embarrassed though; it was cute.  She said it with such confidence that i actually believed it.

**~Clarke~**

Oh my god! How did that just fall out of my mouth?

I feel the fire burning in my face,  and I know that I just shoved my foot so far in my mouth. I don't even know how to get out of this. I mean, how do I take that back?

“Wow,” I say. Shaking my head, as they lean back in their chair, legs spread open, and _fuck!_ Are they doing that on purpose?

They do nothing to try and stop my blubbering as I try to fix this, “I just mean.. Well, you know what I mean…” It's not getting better, and their grin just keeps growing as I make more of an ass of myself.

Not sure what to do, I stand up and hold up my drink, “I need another to cool off.” God damn it! Why are you such an idiot? “Not like a cold shower, but like I just want another drink.”

“You’re thirsty,” they answer, and they stand with me.

I stare at them, taking in their full beauty. I still can’t properly process, so I spit out, “what are you doing?”

The commander points to the counter, and answers, “going with you to get another drink.” They say it like it obvious. Like I wasn't trying to run away from this situation.

I close my eyes, and I say the first thing that comes to mind, “this is like me escaping to the bathroom. You have me fumbling and I need a timeout.”

Green eyes widen, and carefully they say, “you made me watch your stuff for nothing.”

I quirk my lips, because I see the game they’re playing. And two can play that way. “What can I say, someone calling me princess and shoving their tits in my face gets me a little worked up.”

The blush creeps up said boobs drawing my attention to how they are just right there, and I step around them. “And yep, I need another drink to quench my _thirst._ ”

**~Lexa~**

_She did not just say that...did she?  I certainly did not shove my tits in her face.  Well maybe a little...it’s not like I gave her a show.  Just a very teeny tiny sneak peek._

Cowboy boots click and step around me, I don’t turn around but I can hear the blonde in the boots walking hurriedly towards where I know the bathrooms are.  

Part of me wants to follow blondie, but I, of all people know that being alone to gather your thoughts and yourself can be the best thing.  But i also know it can be torture…

Slumping back down into my chair I can’t help but wonder if I may have gone a little too far today.  Glancing around the lobby and occasionally out the glass windows I watch the world go by, second by second.  There is so much at play here, so many little things that create our lives working in perfect tandem.  

Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on the top of my denim covered knees and clasp my hands together; absentmindedly moving skin across skin as I continue to people-watch.  My gaze is interrupted by the familiar thud-thud of boots and the flash of radiantly blonde hair.

**~Clarke~**

Their posture is no longer relaxed, and I worry that maybe I went to far. I watch their hands pull off their knees and wring together. I know those actions. I have done them countless times before. Done them every time I was contemplating a way out.

Grabbing the drink that is waiting for me at the bar, I pick up the mango smoothie with counterproductive whipped cream. I had meant it as a step forward, but looking at the cup, I second guess the words Monty had let me scrawl on the side in careful cursive.

Turning around, I don’t have many options. They are still sitting at the table, but they were shifting their stuff around, and it looks like they are preparing to leave. Closing my eyes, I try to gather some confidence. Try to find that girl that told them I’m thirsty, but I’m failing miserably.

I can’t wait though. There is no place to just hide, and leaving without my computer is not optional. _Get your shit together_ , I tell myself, and I take the longest six steps of my life. With each click, announcing my arrival.

I ungracefully plot down into my chair, and hold my breath as I hold out the cup that is gradually freezing my finger pads. The message is angled at them, but they haven’t looked up yet, nor have they taken the drink from me.

Clearing my throat, I trying to find my words. I can’t hold the drink out for much longer, so I just slide it onto the table within reach. They seem lost inside, so I try,  “I…” but I fail as green eyes wander up to meet mine.

Putting the straw in my mouth, I try to fight the urge to chew on it. Swallowing the nerves within as the liquid coats my throat. I really don’t understand how we went from flirting to awkward silence.

Wasps swarm inside, buzzing against the interior of my gut. Blood screaming in my ears that they are not okay, and I need to get away. I can’t just run away though. I can’t after they were so careful with me. I finally just heff out, in a little more exasperation than I intend, “You okay?”

“Y-yeah, I’m all good.  Just thinking.”

I look around and notice that we are about to hit another rush. The volume is rising. This can be good or bad for us. If they’re like me, the loud noises will release a cataclysmic amount of stress, but they may thrive in such environment. I fight the urge to push in my earbuds to block it out.

“So like ten minutes ago, I could have sworn you wanted me to ask you out,” I admit, hoping I didn’t just put my foot in my mouth even farther.

I watch her eyes widen, and her throat bob. Their eyes fall to the plastic cup. Fingers crossed like a six year old, I await rejection. I mean, they’re gorgeous. They wouldn’t want anything to do with a nutcase that has panic attacks in Starbucks cafes. _I’m so stupid!_

“If I am to be completely honest with you...you did not guess wrongly.  At all.  You are simply beautiful,” their words were quiet, but lacks conviction.

 _Wait what?_ I can’t stop my mind from reeling that they would actually be interested in me. My chest tightens as the blood hits my chest. Heat creeping up my face in both embarrassment and flattery. I try not to shake, or the fumble, as I say, “Then… what happened?”

I can’t fight the belief that I have done something to upset them, because they’re not smiling. The glow vanishing under a frosty layer of question. The question hanging in loud silence, as voices of patrons blur around us.

Uncomfortable with the silence, I just go with the first flirty thing i can think of, “And just for the record, I really enjoyed the view… but I didn’t mean to come off as a horney teenager.”

They straighten in the chair a little, giving off a soft laugh, “Thanks, i think.  Dont worry, i have seen my fair share of them and you aren’t nearly as bad.  Trust me.  Although...” I feel like I am actually going further backwards than forwards. Commander’s tone has still not shifted, and their body language is telling me to prepare for let down. I mean, I asked them out didn’t I? They said I was right. But they aren’t showing any signs of interest anymore. _Maybe they jsut like the chase? Maybe I came on too strong?_

My heart still beating too fast, when they pick up the mango smoothie.  Completely bypassing my note, I don’t know why, but I just want to throw my stuff in my bag. They don’t need to say it. I get it. I get that they changed their mind, when I took it too far.

A young man leans against the wall far too close to where we are sitting, as blenders scream from over the small half wall separating customers from green aproned employees. My eyes dance over my belongings, as I plot the fastest way to pack and leave. I pause from my planning as I see the cup twist in their hand.

After taking a few seconds to read my note and going straight for the creamy and tangy drink, they bring their gaze up to my eyes and speak with a little more purpose, “Although, no one has ever been quite so bold.  Or this cute and endearing in asking me out to dinner.”  I even catch the smallest twitch of the edge of their lips as a smile threatens their face.

My breath catches, as I try to choke out, “So that’s a yes?”

“You have guessed correctly, once again,” and I won’t lie the snark in their voice makes me want to throttle them for making this so stressful. I shift a little, not even sure how to proceed. I don’t feel cute. I don’t even feel comfortable anymore. But, it’s done.

Pulling my phone out, I open the new contact and type in ‘Commander’. I hand it to them, and say, “Well, can I have your number?”

“Of course, although having walkie talkies would have been pretty cool” they quip playfully.  Reaching up with one hand, they slowly take my phone from me and work at typing in the numbers. I feel my nerves settle a little, until they start flipping into a different app. I almost trip and rip the phone from their hand, until i realize they are texting themself.

When they hand me back the phone, I see the text sent to themself. It is a time and a place, and I am so confused. Looking up, I say, “I… but I asked you out?”

They shrug slightly, but I see the confidence returning to their body. The familiar smile is still playing at their lips, and I just want to know what is rolling through their head. They roll their shoulders some, and say, “Well, right now you’re just thirsty, so I plan on making you parched.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments and kudos fuel our fire!


	6. Authors Note

Hello,

Sorry everyone. I swear, I was trying to update my fics today but someone was claiming to be me on tumblr. It turned into a huge mess, and somehow I got talked into doing a periscope tomorrow to prove myself. However, here is the deal. I am luxstoryteller on tumblr, it is also my gmail. You can find me on twitter at @bluespicer. I am not really sure how to do the whole periscope thing but I will be doing it tomorrow at 11am my time. If you’re interested you can watch me make a fool of myself as I show you how Lowiiie and I write a chapter together. I will answer as many questions as possible. I am not sure how long I will be doing it but.... yeah, this is apparently happening. Also, Lexfingtrikru on tumblr is not me. 

Best wishes,

Luxi


	7. Sparks Fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sparks fly - need I say more.

**~Lexa~**

“Well, right now you’re just thirsty, so I plan on making you parched”

_Holy shit I did not just say that...buuuuuuutt I guess it wasn’t thaat bad._

Telling by the slightest tinge of pink that rose in blondie’s cheeks, my comment wasn’t left unappreciated.

Slipping my laptop into my rucksack, carefully eyeing the girl in front of me as she reads and seems to re-read my message i slip up from the table and out the door.  Hoping the suspense might keep her interested.

They all leave.

There may be plenty of fish in the sea but I have dangled my hook in the water for years; it seems I may have hooked her.  If I catch a certain princess I am definitely not going to want to throw her back.  

No way.

One last look at her through the polished glass of the door - I only catch her back turned to me, the messy french braid falling apart in places, splaying across her shoulders in a beautiful abstract pattern.  Much like the branches of the black ink on my back  

 

Pulling away from the curb the dash clock gives off a high pitched beep and then a deeper one.  

 _12:00_  

Seven hours.  Seven hours that I know will feel as long as the winding lines across my back and shoulders.  By no means do i regret it, at all!  I mean sitting curled around that chair for close to two hours on end while the artist marked out my design was bad, my shoulders were dying afterwards.  But with each little prick - not little but in relative terms - I began to realise how long it would actually take.

_That was a fucking long and painful experience._

But I am definitely going back for more.  I have always been an avid believer in the idea that your body is your canvas.  

I can’t help but smile at the memory.  I must have been acting like a teenager that just lost their V card from the looks i got from the squad.  Every chance i got, I would simply walk around in my pants and a wrap or sports bra - showing off my ink.  It got appreciated too - most recently by a pair of blue ogling eyes as a newer addition poked out of my sleeve.

_I mean what else would I have done with some off time between injury leave?_

Finding myself at the apartment I once again fall into the feeling of _this is not what i want to be doing but i don’t know what i want to do._

Pulling my phone off the coffee table, flipping the message I sent to myself open on my phone.

_‘Princess,_

_19:00 / 7:00_

_Magic Tacos_

_Meet at outside Charlies_

_Commander’_

I change the contact name to ‘Princess’ and adding a little crown emoticon at the end.  I can’t remember why I chose this place though.  I mean she might not even like Tacos.  

Flicking through my wardrobe is infuriating.  Hanger by hanger I make it from right to left in the entirety of the wardrobe.  I have so many goddamn clothes but fucking nothing to wear.

_Not that blondie would mind if I rocked up in no clothes._

Most of this wardrobe is from before I was deployed; apart from my greens, military formals and a couple of pairs of jeans and tshirts.  

_God I really need to go shopping._

 

**~Clarke~**

The time was for tonight? I didn’t even think to ask as Commander put away their stuff and left me too my work. I couldn’t focus on Auroria or Atlas or even the hot Commander of the Trikru nation.

I turn my attention to the online education program. Creating a new assignment, I build the small chart. Just three columns and simple descriptions. As I tried to create the assignment the character’s faces all flashed in my head. The corrupt politician being the one that resonates and had me checking my phone again.

Checking the simple text message read _‘Princess, 19:00 / 7:00 Magic Tacos Meet at outside Charlies- Commandero_. The clock at the top tells me it's a little after noon.

I pack up my stuff and wave to Monty. There were too many people around and the crowded lobby was suffocating me. The hovering people around the table next to me, and the heft man reeking of too much aftershave kept bumping into my chair had me on edge.

I stepped out of the cafe into the warm afternoon air. Even for January the weather was overly nice. I toss my bag over the center console and slide into the white Prius.

As soon as the car starts the pop music blares through the speakers. _Why can't I ever remember to turn it down before I get out?_

The lights are all green, making getting my trip home quick. The stressful day was a little overwhelming, but the easy drive allows me time  to think about the fact that tonight I have a date.

At seven, I have a date.

I have a date.

I haven’t had a date since high school. Since Wells.

Since Wells and I fell in love and then in disaster. Since… he changed. Changed to be just like his father. His father who had loved until his beliefs commanded him to love no more. No more love, just judgement and the pursuit of the promised land; a place for all that were pure.

No more love after three years of dating, and two years of marriage. No more love, just a man’s place and a woman’s place. No more love, just blind obedience for being equally yoked.

The yoke that tightened until I couldn’t breathe anymore.  The soft spoken boy I had promised my life to vanished gradually after Sunday morning church and evening dinners. How Wells would listen so intently, desperate to prove that I wasn’t leading him astray. Unlike the mishap during the twelfth grade when he tried to plant me a field of wildflowers by burning down a grass field.

The Senator turned preacher single handedly broke Wells until he reflected his father’s image. The image of anger and rage fuming from him as though he had walked through an irritated World War III.

~~~~~

_His dark eyes glared at me. His words stinging, as he held up my manuscript, “Claire, this is unacceptable. A land led by women, when the place is within a home as God intended. Let alone the blasphemy of allowing the girl to promise herself to another woman.”_

_He took the freshly printed manuscript and dropped it into the New England fireplace, where the fire was already lit and cackling. “Your thoughts are clearly confused.”_

_His hand coming down and breaking its force against my cheek with enough momentum to feel my neck crack as I fall._

_I learned as my sense of self was stripped away so slowly, that falling made it shorter. The change surprisingly easier than anyone expected. The initial change came with the look; uncomfortable knee length skirts and dresses of propriety replacing the paint splattered jeans and revealing tops. And the move to a larger house that demanded the constant attention of a wife for a promising potential political figure when she wasn’t smiling for the local news station._

_It was easy to fall into submission of grunts and fists when the friends I had got tired of me canceling plans, or even ‘forgetting’ to answer the text message. Or the way my mother faded into her work after my father’s untimely death. With no one to check in with or show up to see made it easier to hide in the house until the bruises faded._

_My hands covered my head, as I waited for the next blow that will be easier to hide. Tears already falling to the dark wood grained floor that I had cleaned earlier that morning. I waited, every fiber in me on expecting edge. Trying to will my muscles to relax so it won’t be so bad. The incomplete pre-med education reminding my body with what to expect._

_The hand did not come down as expected though. Instead it gripped under my arm, dragging me to my feet. I don’t fight it, or try to stay on the floor. There’s no point but to follow instructions, so that’s what I did._

_I followed..._

_....Wells to our room._

_... him to the bed where we undressed._

_... his lead and kept my eyes on the ceiling our last time._

_... a command for his nightly tea, with the thick addition of valerian._

_… as he prayed away my dangerous and devious thoughts._

_... sounds of his breathing growing thick with sleep._

_... soft scentsy lights to the hidden bag._

_...  the road far away._

_~~~~~_

I stand outside the unopened door whose shadowed form lay in constant waiting. Constantly demanding attention. My fingers running over the wood. The texture just another painted wooden panel to another room.

Now is not the time. I have to get ready. So I turn away from the room and trace down the short hallway to my bedroom, then the bathroom. An autopilot of movement that keeps my back hidden from the huge mirror as I slowly tear away at my clothes.

The water steams off my skin, the temperature as hot I can get it. Normal pale flesh turns red and angry under the stream. The scent of espresso and anxiety washing away, and I remind myself that Commander is not Wells. That I have had three years of learning to be me. Three years of learning my limits. My limits that allow me to leave the house and make me capable of surviving a first date.

When the water starts to cool, I shut off the faucet and pat my body dry. Avoiding the mirror until I am more covered. I glance at my closet door but find myself crawling into bed. My phone on the nightstand lights up. I try to think of how it got there, but realize that I have been on autopilot since I left.

Grabbing my phone I see I have a check in text from Raven. I tap out a typical “alive” answer and move to Commander’s message.

I’m still not sure that they meant tonight. Struggling between looking stupid and fucking up, I go with looking stupid so that if I'm wrong I can just stay in bed.

_I haven't been on a date since high school. I'm bad at this. Did you mean tonight?_

**~Lexa~**

An assortment of chimes from my phone - alerting me to something on my phone - pulls my head back into the moment.  Pulling my phone from the waistband of my pants I see ‘Princess **♔** ’ light up on the screen - there is no stopping the smile that finds its way onto my face.  

Flipping into the messenger app, I open her message.

_“I haven't been on a date since high school. I'm bad at this. Did you mean tonight?”_

I reply: _“I do mean tonight at 7pm.”_

Looking back up to the mess of clothes hanging up before me, I slip my phone back into the waistband of my pants.  Shifting my weight from foot to foot, I wonder what kind of vibe I want to give off.  

I know I should dress to please myself and make myself comfortable and all that, but I really want to make a good third impression here _.  Not the tormented soldier_.  

5 different outfits later leaves me sitting on the foot of my bed with two different outfits; it’s doing my head in.  Glancing from outfit one to outfit two I can’t help but think that this should not be so hard. Then again, I haven’t been on a ‘date’ in well, years.

I just know that the white v-neck with the rips all across the back will draw her in. After all she was intrigued by my tattoo, I know that already...well what she has seen of them.  If I put that shirt over a pair of dark green jeans...the tight ones?  Yeah, the tight ones would look brilliant!  Add some nice boots and a jacket or blazer and all done.

_Maybe that’s too formal...but girls love it when you do that little bit extra.  Go the extra mile._

“Fuck it,” I mutter to myself.  Pushing the other clothes back into the cramped wardrobe I spread the jeans, the distressed shirt with a matching black blazer, to cover the rips, on the bed - _I really want to see her reaction as I pull the blazer off and reveal what’s under it_ \- and drop my boots at the foot of the tightly made comforter.  

 

**~Clarke~**

The parking lot is gradually filling up, as I watch Commander walk from the Chevy Cruze in the quickly fading light. Their ass framed perfectly that I feel heat rising in my chest. I can’t distinguish it the heat is for how amazing they look or the utter inferiority of my attire.

I look down at my tattered boyfriend jeans and long sleeve black tank top. Definitely underdressed, and I watch as Commander stands in front of the entrance. They look so at ease, and I feel like this is just too easy for them. Maybe they do this all the time. Maybe I’m just another in a long line… but they laughed earlier when I asked about girls. I watch like a creeper as they check their phone, and they tap against the screen.

My phone buzzes in the console next to me. I don’t need to check it to know its from Commander.

“I’m standing just outside.  Im wearing a black blazer if it helps."

 _You can do this._ I remind myself, and I realize that I am making this whole process on both of us more difficult. With one last make-up check in the visor mirror, I concede that Commander already knows what they are getting into.

I walk through the dimly lit parking lot until I was about ten feet from where Commander stood. I hold up my arms and shrug as little as her eyes rose to mine. “I'm a little underdressed,” I say with a slight smile.

Their eyes wander down my tattered jeans. I shift on my feet a little before closing the distance between us. “You look beautiful,” I say, hoping that they don't take offense that I didn't say handsome.

“Thank you, princess.  You don’t look so bad yourself.” they say with utter sincerity; no snarkiness at all.  Their eyes gaze into mine for a moment, almost as if they were looking into me.

I feel the blush creeping up, and try to hide it by looking up at the huge sign. Charlie's in scripted don't runs across the yellow sign. “This is a dude’s bar, you know that, right?”

Their head tilts as I look back at them and I realize they are signaling us towards the street. I look at the dark sidewalk and then back to the hand that is extended out to where they were expecting me to go. Commander’s voice is sultry as they say, “I wouldn’t dream of taking a young lady to a bar on the first date, I have much _nicer_ plans for us tonight.”

I nod slightly reluctantly. I wonder if this will be the end of me. Going down the street in the middle of a shitty neighborhood. A bum staggered into the dim light from where they were indicating.

“This isn’t where you murder me or like sell my organs, right?” I meant it as a joke, but I know I was sounding ridiculous. Too late though it was already out.

The hurt crosses their face, I feel the panic rising in me. Shaking my head, I just drop the bomb, hoping that they understand, “My last relationship was really abusive. I'm sorry but this is the first date I've been on and I'm… Im just a mess.”

I take in the poorly paved parking lot. _They don't need this bullshit. I should just give them an easy out. Tell them I understand if this is too much for them._ I search for the words, when a hand lightly touches my arm.

My eyes raise just slightly to where they are touching. Just the outside of their fingers are running over my sleeves bicep.

“You have nothing to fear from me.  I know words don’t mean as much as actions do, so let me prove it to you.”

I take in the beauty of those eyes. The depth of sincerity at make me feel at ease. It's been three years since I felt the need to touch another person, but I feel it in my bones.

Slowly, raise my arms and wrap them around their neck. Pulling them into me. I'm not sure if this is okay, but I need it. I need to know that I can embrace them and it's safe.

Their breath tickles my ear as they whisper, “may I hug you back.”

Nodding furiously, I whisper back, “Please.”

Arms came around me. They were thinly built, but the strength behind them was undeniable. I feel the pressure adding to a sense of security that has been missing from my life these last several years. 

Their warmth is comforting as I breath in the subtle hint of raspberries. The smell filling my lungs and adding a new sweetness to the smooth Commander. As I pull back, I look up into their face and say, “Thank you.”

Their finger grazes lightly over my chin, and the closeness becomes closer. They don't lean forward though. Leaving just enough space for me to back away. I don't though. I close the gap, pressing my lips to the soft poutiness ever slightly.

Parting my lips just slightly, they tilt their head and a hand grazes over my lower back. Heat radiates from where their hand is on me, but it's not the kind of heat that is going to break me in anyway other than wishing this wasn't the first date, that this was several dates in and I could graze my tongue against theirs.

I don’t let my heart and pure instincts potentially ruin the moment, instead I move my hands away from their neck.  Cupping their jawline and cheek with one and wrapping the fingers of my other hand around the lapel of that black blazer, that is surprisingly not scratchy but soft to the touch.  Not as soft as their lips feel though, nothing could be softer and more inviting.

Changing the angle a little, our noses boop together.  One more soft press of our lips and its over, but not quite over as our foreheads meet gently.  Sharing the air from our own little world, i can only assume that we are both basking in the emotions brought to the surface by that one soft and beautiful kiss.

_Commander nose-boop.  XD_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments and kudos fuel our fire.
> 
> I would also like to mention the strength and control that Lux has exercised in the light of recent events - while still balancing her hectic and demanding lifestyle. While there is much more I would like to say, however to keep it short I will just mention the fact that it takes a very arrogant, disrespectful and not to mention dicknipple of a person to take claim for something they did not do.  
> That is all, thankyou. Rant is over. :)  
> -Shorti


	8. "Wait you know Blake?"

**~Clarke~**

Commander leads me around the building. The street light is burned out, but the Lightrail whistling by added to the creepy downtown ambivious that was surprisingly comforting considering that I am still sure my life's in danger. There are a few cars parked just behind the building, however, the lights are bright and I can hear the music from the club reverberating into the darkness.

They walk along the street, providing me the safety of the wall. Briefly, I let my mind wander to Shakespeare, and the wall. The way a man would take the wall and lady the street to avoid getting hit by the dumping of chamber pots. The thought draws a smile to my face, and I struggle to keep my laughter within.

My hand comes up, and Commander shifts alongside of me, “What’s on your mind?”

Biting my lip, I consider that we are about to eat. “Are you… like squeamish about gross stuff?” I ask, as the pale stucco building ended. I don’t hear if they answer me though. I can’t as my focus is drawn to the place Commander has chosen as our first date spot.

I take in the massive line of people all shapes and sizes  to the small folding table. The large white truck along side the table, draw my attention, as I see an older man with graying temples, beat a butcher knife downward into a large stump. I watch his second hand twist carne asada around. The knife coming down so fast, with loud thumps that contradict the techno-music.

Hit after hit, thunders against the block of wood.  I can’t tear my eyes away from more than to follow up to his face, where he scans the crowd. Never looking down, as the knife slams down again. I hold my breath, because this dude is going to chop off his thumb.

I feel movement next to me, but it’s the clearing of a throat and a goofy grin that finally refocuses my attention on my date. My nameless date. _Who the fuck goes on a date with someone they don’t even know by name?_

They hold their hand out in a silent request. It’s a simple request, but I still wage an internal war over the concept of allowing them to hold a piece of me. Carefully, my eyes study the calloused fingers outstretched to me. The battle is far from over, but my hand falls into theirs, lacing our fingers together.

With a soft squeeze, I embrace this new feeling. Human contact now a foreign concept for me, but at the same time like a distant memory. The roughness reminds me of my father. His hands worn from use, but even in their scratchy state they were more comforting than any massage therapist’s touch.

A rough thumb rubs over the back of my hand. “Thank you,” Commander says with nothing but warmth. Holding up their free hand, they gesture to the truck. “He never looks down.” I follow their hand and watch again, as the man’s head turns to speak to the younger man next to him. They are in their own protective world, but it was clear they are apart of the show.

When I raise my eyes, I take in their gorgeous eyes, and consider pressing my lips to theirs again. I am not sure why hand holding is such an issue when I really want to feel their soft lips against mine again.

I swallow, “I don’t cook.” I am not even sure where that came from. They stop for a second and just look at me. There’s a sharp pain in my lip, as I bite down again. I didn’t even realize it was in the way, but my feelings of ridiculousness outweigh the pain. “I… yeah… not sure where it came from, but just know you are signing up for a life without me cooking.”

Their smirk is undeniable, and my mistake in word choice is not even something I can recover. Nor do I have the chance. The snark is immediate, as their lips graze just over my cheek and whispers into my ear, “Asking me to Uhaul with you already, Princess? I haven’t even bought you dinner yet.”

**~Lexa~**

Internally I applaud myself for the wit that dripped off my words, but my little ‘celebration’ is short lived as the realisation of  just how close I am to the little blonde hits me...with almost the same power of her perfume.  

 _Vanilla?_   _Vanilla and a little something else...something with a kick._ The scent fills my lungs and coats my tongue even though it’s subtle. Not enough for anyone else to steal from me, and that’s when I realize how close we still are. How close she has let me be to her. And pride fills in some of my holes.

I can tell that she realises it too as her body stiffens; cliche as it may be, in this tiny moment she gives off the ‘deer in the headlights’ vibe.  To my relief only a few moments later it seems that the warmth of my breath has melted the worry away.  Just for good measure i take a half-step back, just in case.

Shifting on her feet, the blonde breaks the silence, “Uh… How did you find this place?”.

The memory slips into my head, rendering me unable to hold back the smile that causes a small smile to spread across my lips. “That is actually quite the story, in my opinion.”

Princess’s eyes continue to watch the knife falling and barely missing the cook’s fingers, but a small smile quirks the edge of her glossy lips upward, “I specialize in stories.” And there is a hidden meaning there. “So once upon a time there was a commander…” and she tapers off waiting for me.

Huffing playfully, I take a step forward so we can advance in the line. She casts a glance my way, and I know she is waiting on me. Like what I have to say actually matters. I lose myself in the way her eyes darken at the edge just slightly adding more vibrancy to the sky blue threatening to swallow me. Swallow me like the way my throat is gulping for something but nothing is there to ease my thirst.

Shaking my head to free my mind, I begin, “So once upon a time there was a Commander-”

She interrupts, “I already said that.” And her elbow nudges me playfully just a little. She pulls at her sleeves a little, so I can see her forearms and I swear forearms have never looked so attractive before. The little freckles just above her wrist look distinctly like the Orion constellation.  

“Stop interrupting,” I chastise in mock seriousness, and I watch her stiffen just a little. _What just happened? Maybe… shit abusive relationship and I just gave a fucking order. Get your fucking shit together, Lex._

A loud group of teenagers fall into the line behind us. Their standing a little too close for comfort, and I step closer to the princess to get them off my back, however, they just step even farther in.  She is so stiff next to me, and I see her pulse point in her neck bouncing too quickly.

“I don’t like crowds,” I admit. I am not even sure where it comes from, but I feel the need to explain. “And they are really close.”

I see the understanding wash over her face, her shoulders relax just a tad, slumping forward just enough that I can see lightly down her shirt. I let my eyes wander just for a second, but then snap away as something hits me from behind.

Turning abruptly, I glare at the averaged sized brunette with tattoos running out from just behind her ears and down her neck, “Sorry,” she whispers, and I see her friends looking equally timid for a minute.

“Just back up some and then you don’t have to worry about running into people. You don’t need to be up my ass,” I tell her, and I see a small smile spread across her face.

“It’s a nice ass though.”

 _What the hell? Did she just?_  I look back to the blonde that is shaking lightly, and I hear a shallow snort, before she turns around, and places a gentle hand on my arm.

“It’s a very nice ass,” Princess says confidently, and then she winks as she adds, “But it’s my ass, so please keep your distance.”

The line moves a few feet forward, so we take a step. I hold my hand up signalling that they should heed my blonde’s warning. They seem to get the picture though, because they don’t follow.

There are only about three more people in-front of us, and I know that Princess is still waiting for the story I promised. I shift slightly from foot to foot, “So.. there was this commander and they were stationed overseas-”

“What branch?” she interrupts again; I dare not tell her to ‘stop interrupting’.  The last thing on my to-do list is triggering her… again.   

Our eyes meet.  We are both probably thinking the same question, but I ask it, “Does that break the rules?” I ask calmly.  

She bites that plump lower lip, and I fight the urge to take it in my own teeth. But gradually, she answers with a question, “It’s not like I don’t know you’re a soldier. I mean you sport a military backpack and your hair is always way too tight to be normal.” Her lips twist a little.  She is totally holding back a genuine smirk. I wrap my arms around her without thinking about it. Her body tightens, but she relaxes after a second, and whispers, “You smell like rain from the beach near where I grew up. It’s a good memory. A relaxing memory that I haven’t thought about for a long time.” She pauses, and tentatively her arms extend to wrap around my waist. “I feel like I need to let you touch me more so I can breath in my childhood.”

Unable to help myself, I pull her in a little closer, “I don’t think I can complain about that.” My hair rubbing against her little nose, and I watch as it scrunches and she wiggles it just enough to make me lean down enough to plop a tiny kiss on the tip.

“GET IT, GIRL!” the teen behind us hoot. _Arg! Fucking gender bullshit._ I want to snap at them, but I can’t without letting the princess go.

_Why do I have to make all the hard decisions in life?!_

“So… the commander was in the army, and the desert does a number on their normally silky skin. Oh the life of the soldier!” I say dramatically, trying to push the annoying teens out from my mind. Tonight is about making Princess feel good, not my fucked up issues with people’s ignorance.

Her head leans back, so her body presses in closer. My arms supporting a majority of her weight, and her curves are pleasantly soft and comforting. “Badass Army commander, huh?” Lip between her teeth again, and it’s almost too much to handle how badly I want to bite her. Taste her lips and caress her tongue again.  

“You could say that.” I say, smiling into the top of her head. “But princess are you ever going to let me tell my story?”

With a slight huff she pulls away and steps forward as another space has opened up. “Fine, get to the goods.” I look down and stare at the way her jeans are just a little lighter at the back of her ass, and think, _gladly._

“Well… there was this girl at the mess hall. Taco Tuesday is kind of a thing, I know it’s tacky but I wasn’t really complaining. However, this private was complaining… loudly.” The memory of Octavia waving her soggy taco at the cook behind the sneeze guard, as she yelled about it being an insult to tacos. Yeah, that was a good memory.

Princess is scanning over the small menu just behind the woman taking orders at the table. “I have a friend like that. She is always complaining about when things are not like the way she wants them, and she is obsessed with tacos.”

“I kinda enjoy having people like that around, they keep life interesting.  You know, never a dull moment.  But she was raving about these ‘heavenly tacos’ that were ‘almost as good as sex’.  I just had to ask her.  I found it hard to believe that any kind of food has that kind of quality.  Yet, here we are,” and I signal to the stand.  

The customer at the table completes his transaction, and I step up to the counter. “Bueno,” I say to the woman that I visit weekly.

“Bueno, como esta?” the woman greets with a familiar smile. “Estas con una chic, eso es nuevo. Ya no mas soldado solitario.”

“You speak Spanish?” Princess asks me quietly, and I see the awe in her eyes. I think I may have just gone up a few places on the hotness scale. But additionally, I am grateful she didn’t know that the woman just pointed out that I am always alone. I mean seriously not going to help my image at the moment.

I nod softly, and ask, “Do you know what you want or do you want me to get you the best thing on the menu?”

After a few moments of what looked like some very serious deliberation inside that pretty head of hers she says something.  More of a half-statement an half-question, “You order, I’ll go find us a table.  Sound good?”

I give her a curt nod and a pull her in tighter for a moment before letting her go.  Not a second later she has turned on the spot and walked in between people and tables trying to find a place to eat.  As she strides away I can’t help but take all of her and all of her beauty in.  The way the glow from the lights bounce off her golden hair.  

Turning my attention back to my taco providing friend, I request, “Me puedes dar tres mini quesadillas y cuatro tacos sin salsa o guacamole.  Me puedes dar tambien dos horchatas.”  She quickly jots the order down on the tiny order pad, and tears off the bottom tab with the a seven digit number.

Taking the simple tab with a simple nod, I grab the two styrofoam cups and make room for the next customer. The tables are mostly full, but I find Clarke at a back picnic table. As I make my way over to where she sits, the high pitched accented voice calls out, “Twenty-four! Twenty-four!”

We’re thirty-six, so we have some time. I negotiate through the moving mix of people. This is one of the few places I can really feel comfortable, where I can see Drag Queens sharing tables with families. Teens in studded gothic attire, and uptight Scottsdale barbies.

I catch a kid with an arm, as the four year old is pushing passed me to the trashcan but trips over my shoe. “Whoa, buddy.”

He smiles a toothless grin, and continues on his way.

I finally make it to the seat, and slide into the plastic bench across from the blonde still taking in all the commotion around her. For someone who spends her days in a Starbucks cafe, her eyes scan the crowd nervously like she may panic at any minute.

Hesitantly, I ask, “Everything is okay?”

Eyes moving to me, she smiles weakly. Voice soft as she says, “There is just so much to see.” She pauses for a minute and I watch her eyes travel to where a very feminine male named Murphy sat with a bigger burly dude, that I know by the name Gustus. I have met them a few times here, but she is watching them and the small family sitting at the same table cautiously.

I know it may be breaking the rules, but I figure I answered the military question. Quietly, I start, “I don’t wanna cross any line, but… are you like… super religious?”

Her eyes shoot to me, and I see utter fear etched into every line of her face. Like she is terrified of something, and I don’t even know how to proceed. Her mouth opens and closes a few times - I understand her struggle, she is trying to find the right words - before her eyes are looking around and I realize she is looking for an exit.

“Look I didn’t…” but I don’t even know what to say. I have never seen someone react so weirdly to a question before. But I try again, “If you want to leave, I will walk you back to your car.”

With her eyes back on me, I swallow hard. _How can she be this beautiful when she is this intense?_ I’m trying to formulate words, when her own words start tumbling out.

With a sharp gasp, she starts. “That abusive relationship I told you about was because my ex took to religion really hard all of a sudden. He… we were married… and he used his beliefs to constrict everything I was able to do. I have no faith, but I was kept away for so long that I don’t know how to see families and _family_ in the same venue without being completely awestruck, and happy. So I’m sorry but this is just me processing how much I let him dictate my every move. It’s kinda a worse revelation than any strike he managed to land, because I mean… people are happy and accepting and not hateful and not wrong, and I just kinda want to absorb it.”

If it were physically possible I’m sure my jaw may have dropped to the concrete floor. Like how does anyone respond to that. And I don’t get a chance, because the woman cries out, “Thirty-six! Thirty-six!”

“I need to,” I point to the small window. I start to get up, but I stop half standing, half still sorta leaning on the table. “Thank you… I can’t imagine what you have gone through.” She nods softly, and I move from the table.

The woman looks me over, “Thirty-six?”

“Si,” I answer and had her the little slip of paper. She nods as she takes it and hands me the styrofoam plate. “Can I get some limes too please?”

She tosses a few on the plates, and I take them. Navigating carefully through the long line, back to where Princess is still scanning the crowd. _“_ I present our small feast for this evening, _”_ I announce, sliding the plates with our meals onto the wooden table, in a much more dramatic fashion as I usually would.  Normal I would probably be super embarrassed to be seen talking in this manner, but from the smile that spreads over the blonde’s face seems that I did well.

Pointing to each different thing I announce what they are and make sure to put emphasis on how awesome all this food is. “This is a mini quesadilla and they are the speciality. They are not even on the menu though. The tacos have cabbage and a Mexican cheese. I wasn’t sure how you felt about salsa or guacamole, so I got them on the side.” Then I realize she still hasn’t touched the drink so I point to the cup, “And that is horchata. I think it’s similar to your uptight Starbucks order.”

The blonde looks as me as if there is something she needs to say. The silence between us in this moment is deafening even with all of the voices and music pounding from the club behind us.

She doesn’t say anything though, picking up a mini quesadilla, she places it in her mouth. Then with a mouthful, she mumbles, “Fwank ou.”  She swallows then and speaks clearly, without the grabbling, “You really have to thank the private that told you about this place.  I will definitely be coming back here more often.”

I can’t help but smile, “Thank you for letting me bring you here, princess.  This private is a good friend, I will likely bump into her-” A singular buzz in my pants and a familiar chime pull my attention from my words.

I bite my lip, “Sorry.” I mean, I don’t want to be rude on a first date, but that tone is only for a select few people. “I just…” and she nods, as I see her reach for her phone out of her pocket too.

Pulling the phone from my pants, I laugh at the screen.  “Speaking of the devil!” I quip, realising the message is from the same private that I just mentioned. I open the message, and glance up to see that Princess is opening hers as well. Her face pales for a moment, and eyes shoot up at me.

I’m not sure what is going on until, I glance down and notice that the message Octavia has sent me is a group message. And in the list of several familiar names, is one very familiar. One that has a little crown next to the name, and is for the blonde sitting directly across from me.

“You know Blake?”

The blonde nods, and then she looks down at the phone again. “I…” she starts but she closes her mouth.

Carefully, I ask, “Do you know her well?”

She nods, and asks, “Did she ever tell you about Clarke?”

Yeah, Blake had talked about a Clarke often. She had talked to me about the girl that she held when she was going through rough times. The girl that was just figuring herself out. The teacher I think… and _Fuck!_

“You’re Clarke… Clarke Griffin?” I ask, knowing that this is about to get fucked up fast.

_Please don’t be Professor Griffin. Please don’t be the same one. Maybe she is has a different last name. That could happen right?_

But it doesn’t. No it doesn’t because Princess is holding out a hand, and saying, “I’m Clarke Griffin. It’s nice to meet you...” and she waits for me to tell her my name. To tell her that I am her student and I know that will change everything.

And _FUCK!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please kudos and comments! We love them. We live for them!


	9. Cat milk

**~Clarke~**

The green soft use hide away something in the mossy depths. The sparkle and assurance vanishing from the eyes looking back, as a tiny tinge of pink settles in their cheeks. Not the typical cocky, stoic mask of indifference, but rather as though a paint brush had carefully hand detailed just hint of shadow, drawing my heart into an unsteady tempo. A unprecedented panic that somehow is etched into their features. My hand still presented, but wavering in the air. Shaking just slightly to signal it's not just getting tired, as I measure my options. Measure my value through their actions.

Mind dealing, and gear shifting erratically to make sense of their delayed reaction. Surely, this could be the first time someone has asked for their name.

Even then though, the could shake my hand. _Why aren’t they taking my hand?_ Tearing my eyes from theirs, my hand trembles but looks clean. My nails are polished with just a simple gloss, and not dirty.

And I start to second guess everything I had thought about the evening. Every chance I had taken that they maybe someone not wanting to hurt me. But those thoughts do not last long, because it must be me. It has to be me. This is the type of person I attract.

I consider, _Did I do something wrong?_ Racking over the conversation and finding nothing. But I must have done something wrong.

I can't find a reason though, so I reach further. Octavia must’ve told them what she know. Told them that I am nobody. That I am someone that abandons my obligations. Hides.

The darkness of self-doubt swallows what little confidence I had acquired throughout the night. Shading my vision, and I can’t seem to shake the feeling that I need to leave. I need to leave, and find a new Starbucks, and change my number, and… and....

My thoughts are lost as my chest tightens once more. I begin to withdraw my hand, but suddenly their hand is on mine and they are shaking my arm up and down. My body unable to react as the energy has retreated from my limbs, making my arm limp as a spaghetti noodle. Their face having altered slightly to show less panic, and more concern.

“It’s nice to meet you, Clarke Griffin,” they state. That smooth confidence of command coating each word.

I shake my head because I don’t believe them. I don’t know why, but something in my gut twists because there is something they are not telling me. Something hidden that they don’t want me to know. Three years of secrets tells me that there is something not truthful in the way they shake my hand over of the food on the plastic picnic table.

I tilt my head, and start to pull away, but they don’t release me. “I am not sure how to introduce myself,” they add. Hand holding mine carefully. “The army allowed me to live by my last name, avoiding being the person my parents forced me to be.”

I feel a second twist, and I begin to think that my internal organs are about to cut off their own flow of blood, and I will die a painfully disgusting death across this table. It's exaggerated thoughts but I know that anything is possible.

They release my hand, watching me. I feel their eyes but I can't meet them yet until I can deal with the shy reflection of inferiority I know will stare back at me. The question they ask though throws me and brings me up to face them: “Have you heard of dead naming?”

 _Dead naming?_ I roll the words around my tongue, trying them out. They are familiar but at the same point unfamiliar, and I feel like I am about to get another lesson in life that I missed while scrubbing floors and pressing laundry.

I don’t trust myself enough to speak so I just shake my head lightly from side to side, and map the quickest exit from the vicinity.

The large line only lengthier. More people, and the group of teens just a few tables down. The female from earlier watching us curiously. A subtle brow lifted in question.

They take a breath and say, “So… most people are named by their gender.” My ears perk, and I focus back on the mossy eyes watching me. Cataloguing my reactions, measuring me as though I will not understand them. As though I will cast them away, and suddenly it becomes reality.

The music fading behind the pulsing of my own blood in my ears. The reality that Commander has faced rejection often, while I have never actually been rejected.

No, I just run away.

I change my Starbucks.

I change my number.

I change my life to stay hidden. Hidden behind an assumed name as I attempt to make myself into something new. Someone that is stronger than the woman I left behind.

Someone that is different…

And maybe my gut isn’t telling me to run… maybe it’s telling me I’m wrong. Even though I know it’s not my gut, just a portion of my brain. The portion that has no language looking for a way to communicate with the part that is only language. The part that is uses language to say I’m unworthy, telling me to leave, and that I can’t trust anyone. But maybe I need to think with instinct instead of memory. _Fuck you, brain with no language._

Blinking I see their lips moving, eyes searching for understanding. They have been talking, and I haven’t registered a word they have said.

_Damn it!_

I shake my head and look down at the quesadilla that I have only had but a bite of. Carefully, I say, “I won’t lie, I was arguing with my internal organs... and I have no idea what you just said.”

They laugh then. A chuckle deep and gasping with air, as they tell me, “It’s okay, Princess Clarke. Would you like me to restart?”

“Yes, please,” I answer, this time focusing my attention on them.

They hold up their hand, and gesture to me, “You are an exception, to which there are becoming more.” I tilt my head, they try again. “Clarke is not typically a female’s name,” and I think that, _it use to be Claire and taking my mother’s maiden name that was already my middle name was easier than applying for a name change._ But of course I don’t say that, I just nod in understanding. How do I ever tell them I used to be someone completely different.

“Well,” Commander continues, “this becomes an issue when someone is transitioning or in cases like mine where gender focused names are just not really my thing.” I bite my lip and look over the front of them. I mean I hear them, but it takes a minute to process where they are going. “So when I was born, I was named after my grandmother. And her name is Alexandria.”

“Alexandria,” I try out, but they shake their head. And I bite my lower lip and duck my chin realizing where they are going. My eyes look up, and I know I am trying to work the innocent look, and I hope it’s successful.

It must be, because they reach over and raise my chin with their fingers. “You’re too beautiful to hide your face, Princess.”

The blush creeps up immediately, and there is no hiding it, because they still have a hold of my chin. I smile weakly, and say, “Please continue.”

Nodding, they release my chin and scoop up a taco, taking a huge bite. Chewing momentarily, and I feel like this is intentional. Making me wait for their name as payment for not listening. Their jaw moves, bite after bite. I can’t help but examine the strong line and the way their throat bobs as they swallow.

“So…” they say as they wipe their mouth on the back of their hand, before continuing, “Alexandria just doesn’t work, and even Alexa which was what I grew up with isn’t comfortable. So, can we just go with… Lex?”

 _Lex._ I tilt my head, wondering why something is tugging. Why this feels... familiar. I can't place it though, and so I smile a little, as I ask, “So… Lexi is out then?”

I watch the grin spread, and the quick shake of flowing brown lockes. Their words begging, “Oh my god! Do you have to?”

I shrug, twisting my lips playfully, before picking up the quesadilla and taking a bite. Chewing, I see the way they are watching my lips, and I decide it may be my turn to tease them. So as soon as I finish what is in my mouth, I run my tongue over my top lip, and tuck my chin in again. I know my eyes look huge like this, and I see them swallow again, quickly grabbing their Styrofoam cup and downing a huge gulp.

Laughter erupts from my mouth, and I quickly try to cover it. It doesn’t work well at muffling my following snorts of amusement. There is no getting past it, but the gaze of adoration on their face makes the embracing noises coming from my nose and mouth bearable.

Waving at the air, I answer, “So I sound like a pig when I laugh, but my cat is much amused by it.” With a huff of irritated air, I add, “Really that is the only thing that amuses the hellish beast.”

“You have a cat, Clarke Griffin?” and their eyes shine a little with envy.

I swallow my laughter, and swipe through the lock screen of my phone. Pulling up the photo, I show Lex the grey striped tiger cat, glaring at the camera. The gesture to the phone, and I nod in approval, as they take it from my hand. Carefully they study the mean beast, and I smile as I finish off the mini quesadilla and start in on a second. Their fingers spread over the screen, and I know they are making the photo larger.

When I have a mouth full of food, the phone is set back before me, and there is an undeniable smirk on their face. I swallow before I really have finished chewing, and choke out, “What’s so funny?”

“The cat doesn’t like you does it?”

Squinting, I purse my lips. “And what makes you say that?” With a soft chuckle, they pick up the quesadilla I was eating and take a huge bite. “Hey! That’s mine!”

And with a nod, they answer, “And that’s why I know. You don’t share, and you never gave the cat a name.”

Looking over them, I speak without thinking, “Well then do you not like yourself because you never gave me your full name.”

Voices around us fill the silence, as they try to recover. Yeah right, really it is me that is trying to recover. After all, I was the one that suggested no pasts, no names. Because I didn’t like myself enough to be honest with them. Because, I still didn’t trust myself to be honest with them.

And because really, they recover with a impish grin, and a shake of the head along with an upturned finger, “And for that Princess, you shall get no last name.”

I twist my head, and look down at the remaining food. I want the other quesadilla, but I know they haven’t really had much, so I take a taco. The subtle scent of cooked meat tantalizes my taste buds before I even put it in my mouth. Taking a bite, I let the flavors mingle in a casual dance over my tongue. Even though we have been eating for a while, I haven’t really gotten to taste the food. To appreciate the flavor of authenticity, as opposed to imitation. Taco Bell has nothing on these tacos.

“Fuck that’s good,” and I realize that I drop the f-bomb a little too late. Looking up, I notice the slight curve to the edge of their lips, and the dip in their head. Just shallow dip of approval. 

“Best in Phoenix,” Lex states, pride filling each word. But then they poke me, in a manner that is maybe too sensitive: “So tell me about this cat that hates you.”

“She doesn’t hate me!” I practically shout as I reach forward to swat their arm. I'm slow, and my soldier just rolls away with grace. Unable to reach my target, I protest, “She is just… not a people person.”

They look up, and wave a finger at me. Shaking it back and forth. Not needing to call my bluff. I know my reaction was enough to already prove the beast hates me. And they chuckle as they claim, “You be nice to me, or I won’t tell you how to make the cat like you.”

 _Wait, what?_ Lex is totally claiming to be a like cat whisperer or something. Normally this would set off the crazy meter, but for some reason I am more intrigued. I even lean in some, and say, “Tell me your secrets.”

With a puff of the chest, Lex’s shoulders shift straighter. Their posture astutely impressive. I feel the inadequacy rippling like water against the oil like arousal. Both fighting for dominance of my insides, but I can’t seem to move in either direction. Neither willing to mix, or blend. Just leaving me feeling sloshy and unbalanced.

Lex leans forward though. Their breasts resting just on their folded arms. Pressing them up for my viewing pleasure. With a soft gesture, they signal me to come in closer. And I follow their instructions. Follow their request until I am matching gesture and movements. Moving my head to the center of the table. Like all the way... until our noses are almost touching. With a wicked smile, I watch Lex’s eyes drop down. I catch myself still mirroring their movements. I catch myself because I realize I am staring at their lips.

_Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!_

My eyes close, because I know if I continue to trace the subtle pink and soft pillow appeal, the way the lips part, and the corners tilt up just slightly, I will take those perfect pink plump lower lip between my teeth. Unsure of where these animalistic desires are coming from, and a part of me is losing control, I try to steady my breathing to control my heart. That is until they speak.

Just two words.

Two words.

Simple.

“Cat milk.”

And I am so confused. “What the fuck is cat milk?” I say before I have a chance to think, or even process that they have plopped a soft kiss on my nose and backed up to their seated position and taking another bite of the quesadilla that I had begun a minute before.

They chew for hours, almost as though it is not the mixture on tortilla, cheese, meat, or cabbage, but the words that they plan to say. Their eyes wandering around me. Not focusing on me, but looking at the people surrounding us. The wooden fence behind me. The signs on the wall. 

I glare at them incredulously, still waiting for answers to my questions. Answers that they continuously evade so elegantly that I am beginning to wonder how many girls have been evaded so effectively. After all they are clearly one with many secrets.

Holding up a finger, they wash away the food with a sip of their drink. Eyes looking me over, before answering. “Well, since I see you are desperate to win this nameless cat’s love; therefore, I will tell you the ways of my people and you shall win the love of the feline beast.”

The propriety of their tone makes me want to laugh. However, they are correct in my need to get that little shit to like me. I mean being aloof is one thing, but the damn thing repeatedly chasing me around the apartment and swiping at me is taking on a few level of crazy. So i sit up straight, mirroring them once more.

With an aire of superiority, Lex states, “Cat milk is the wonder that will make the beast adore you. It’s formulated specifically for kitties, and probably will make your feline make similar moans of pleasure as when you take in your ridiculous drink.”

 _Rude._ But I don’t say that. Nope, because I need to know where to finish this sorcery. “Where?” I ask like a child in search of treasure.

But they shake their head. They shake their head and me, and show me their white teeth as they smile spreads over their face, and meets the glittering eyes. It’s just enough to let me know that they really are screwing with me.

“First you must pay me with a name,” they say, and I feel like this is a bad version of a Grimm’s fairy tale.

But I pay, Lexastilson, and whisper, “Artemis.”

Their head tilts slightly, and they look up to the tin roofed cover. As though they are Superperson and can see through the metal to the stars, where Artemis’ constellation is surely looking down at us. “Interesting, that you name your beast after the leader of the hunt. Fitting, but still challenging, as though you wanted her to be part beast and less domestic.”

And their knowledge of mythology floors me again, as I recall they were calling me a siren not even yesterday. I nod, as I state, “I hadn’t named her until after seeing her shelter shock wear away. I wanted… I needed to let her be free, ya know.”

Lex reaches out and takes my hand. the callouses rough and real and tangible. Holding me so lightly yet tightly so I don’t float away. Then carefully, they gesture with the free hand to the food, and instruct, “Finish up, and I shall take you to the place that deals in kitten magical wooing potion, and we shall take on the challenge of taming the wild huntress that prowls your home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lux has once again proved herself to be an angel by giving us one hell of a chapter - show the love! XD

**Author's Note:**

> Shorti and I are comment whores. Like you comment and hit the kudos button, and we write more. You give us feedback or hunt us down on tumblr, and we post more. We like people. Well, I like people, and Shorti like comments... and I promise to be gentler with your souls in this fic than most of my others...  
> -Luxi


End file.
